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The Hug


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One year, five months and twenty-one days since Bob left for home. I need a hug. His hug. The unexpected hug. The hug he would give me from behind because he had a pang of love. It wasn’t meant to apologize or celebrate or say hello or good-bye. It wasn’t meant to encourage, support or beguile. It was from his heart... a simple hug. The hug that would take the grind out of taking care of everyone while getting little recognition or even satisfaction in return. It was the hug that I could trust more than anything. The hug that made living and loving and caring worthwhile. To feel his arms wrap around me and his breath touch my ear without a sound. It was the hug that melted me. I didn’t even need to reply, but would allow my head to meld into the hollow of his neck. My words would have been an insufficient match to the warmth that filled my entire being.

It was the hug that meant he loved me totally, nothing more.

How I miss that hug.

I close my eyes and try to feel it. I try to remember the joy it brought to my life. To hold onto the memory of how it felt to be held. Lately, I’ve noticed it in other couples; the unspoken word, the kind gesture, the knowing look, the casual touch.

It’s the loudest thing in my ears today…the silence of Bob’s love.

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Yes, Kath, you said it so eloquently. It's the small things that hurt the most. When you live with someone for a long time, it's those memories that stay in one's heart, that can't be shared, but are missed the most. Thank you so much for sharing - Peace, Marsha

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