The Hug

The Hug

The goodnight hug is still there. The kisses, the lap-sitting, the bath-giving, the carrying-when-too-tired are all gone, only memories now. But, thankfully, the goodnight hug still perseveres. I don’t see my son all that often—haven’t for years—so physically touching him is now rare and special, not just because he’s not near, but also because he’s a grown man. Grown men don’t sit in their Mommy’s lap, and they don’t tell her “I don’t think I can go to college, Mommy, ‘cause I don’t want to leave you”, and they don’t sit squeezed up beside their Mommy, plastered to her leg and side. But I still get the goodnight hug every night when he’s home. And no matter how the day has been—laughter or tears, smiles or frowns, angry words or loving words, there’s always that hug at the end of the day. It’s so precious, so wonderful, so much an expression of Mother-Son love.