From the Mouth of Babes

On my way to my Uncle's brother's wake, I was crammed in the back of my sister's van with her two older kids. We were close to the funeral home, so I thought I would level with the kids quickly:
"Now remember, guys, people are going to be very sad here, so they are going to want lots of hugs," I said. "But only serious hugs; not joking hugs."
Emily thought about this for a minute.
"Is that because we are going to the wake?"
"Yeah. So Uncle Richard probably doesn't want you to push him or anything. Just give him a big hug."
She thought about this again.
"Are you sad?" she asked me.
I thought about this. It was a complicated question, and I was full of different types of sadness. I didn't want to lie to the kid, nor do I think that kids need oversimplification of complicated emotions. Kids have these same complicated feelings, and they need to know that adults do as well.
"Yes," I said. "A little bit."
Without thinking, Emily just lunged and wrapped her arms around me (as much of me as she can, being only 5). She nuzzled her head in and squeezed tight.

I won't lie: I welled up a bit. That was exactly what I needed. Now, I don't want to make it seem like my family is not a close family, but we certainly are not a huggy family, particularly my immediate family. Well, I guess to be completely honest about the situation, I love to hug my family because of how uncomfortable it makes them. My sister Brianne runs away from me, my brother Kiernan will jab at me to keep me at a distance.

It all started when my Dad started to get sick. For one reason or another, I asked, jokingly, if he wanted a hug before I left. He acted like I asked if he wanted me to punch him in the face with a fist wrapped in razor wire, so I tossed my arms around him. It was like hugging a coat tree. But, a tradition was born that eventually leaked onto the rest of my family. The more the resisted the hugs the more hugs they got.

So hugging me has become a bit of an in-joke between my family and I, which is how I gauged the severity of a tragic moment. When my Dad died, we hugged each other a lot. At one particularly difficult moment for me, my brother Kiernan and I, working as pallbearers scooped me up in his arms when I lost the ability to stand. When Erika called off our engagement, my sister Brianne sent me a message over Facebook: "I'm really sorry about all this. Next time I see you, I'll let you hug me. And I won't even wince."

Back to Emily: when we got to the funeral home, Emily took her job very seriously. She tossed her jacket to her Mom, and started scanning the crowd. She locked onto my Aunt Mary, deep in conversation with someone from Richard's family, and walked right over. She stood there, waiting for my Aunt to notice, then wrapped her arms around her. Once that hug was given, she found my Uncle Richard, also in conversation with someone from his family. She sat and waited for that conversation to finish, then, when he turned, she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed tightly.

If you've never been hugged by a child at a particularly sensitive moment in your life, I suggest doing so. I don't have any facts or research to support this theory, but I am fairly certain there must be some medicinal benefits. True to her promise, Emily made sure to give everyone that needed one a big hug, as did her brother, my nephew Nate. As we paid our respects at the casket, we expressed our sympathies to Richard's sister-in-law. Nate, who generally is shy around strangers, gave her a really big hug, as did Emily. For just that brief moment, even though Richard's sister-in-law didn't know either of them, her life was made momentarily brighter. And that, really, is all that anyone can ask for.