I suddenly remember being very little and being embraced by
my father. I would try to put my arms around my father's waist, hug him back. I
could never reach the whole way around the equator of his body; he was that
much larger than life. Then one day, I could do it. I held him, instead of him
holding me, and all I wanted at that moment was to have it back the other way.
~ Jodi Picoult
My Dad gave the best hugs and I miss knowing he is there to hug
me with his ‘Big Harry Hippo’ arms, as my sister and I called them when we were
little. His arms were so big in
comparison to his young, then dark haired, blue eyed daughters. He took the Harry Hippo label in stride,
grinning and hugging us a bit more tightly.
Earlier today, quite unexpectedly, I burst into tears over
something relatively trivial in the whole scheme of things. You see, today is Dad’s birthday and that the
occasion came but Dad is not here was an undercurrent that had the whole day askew. Although I was aware of the date, I didn’t actually
see the tidal wave coming, but come it did.
When it hit this afternoon, I put my head in my hands and wept. Shortly after the dam broke, though I felt
two slender arms wrap around my shoulders; I recognized them immediately. They
belonged to my son. My son favors his
Granddad in many ways. He has my Dad’s thick
hair, which will, no doubt, grey prematurely, and my Dad’s hands with capable, square
fingertips. As my son hugged me and surprisingly
lingered a moment, I realized something wonderful. My Dad actually gave the second best hugs. ~
Mk Michaels
