They lived in a white clapboard house across the street from the town square. In the summer, they watched band concerts from their front porch. Christmas Eve was the most special night of the year as it was their warm and inviting home that served as the location where once each year, the whole family got together. They would often share Christmas Eve with neighbors and friends who were alone and made them part of their Christmas Eve.
As the years passed, the young children grew up, got married and had families of their own. Their Christmas Eve get-togethers grew smaller as the years passed, until eventually it was just the two of them. Still, they were content, because having each other was all they ever really wanted. As family members moved away and developed traditions of their own, they reveled in the simple pleasure of spending the holidays in front of the warmth of the fireplace and illuminated lights of their Christmas tree. They toasted each other on their good fortune, grateful for a life that helped make memories that would live on in the hearts of others.
With the passing of years, the world became darker and more mercurial. There was no place that escaped the violence, hate and malice and their little corner of the world was no exception. It seemed that with the passage of time, the darkness grew closer and enveloped them. The Christmas season, always known for bringing smiles to faces and good cheer slowly gave way to darkness as the holiday season became for too many people, just another thing to get over with and cross from their to do list.
As the years passed, their love stood the test of time. And as their physical bodies deteriorated and grew frail, so did the world around them.
One wintry night, they were walking through town, and saw a woman standing beneath a light post sobbing. The old man approached and was about to ask if he could be of any assistance when the woman hugged the man, not letting go for what seemed like an interminable amount of time. Slowly, she released her grip and whispered, “thank you.” As they continued their walk-through town, a homeless man reached out his hands and, in a hoarse and raspy voice overcome by too many years of drinking and drugs made a plea for help. The old man gently reached out to the man and helped him up. He then wrapped his large arms around the man, hugged him and whispered into his ear; “you are loved.” He pushed a twenty-dollar bill into the homeless man’s hand and released his grip.
The old man could do nothing about the events of the world that unfolded around him, but as the years passed, he never missed an opportunity to provide the warmth and feeling of something as simple, but powerful as a hug. In a world where technology, pandemics and fear isolated people, the simple act of human warmth was an overpowering and dare say a courageous act.
The man’s wife died first, and the old man was inconsolable. He was now the huggee and no longer the hugger. But with time the sharp edges of grief softened, and the old man learned to live with his grief. As the last years of the man’s life went by, his hugs were well known to the townspeople and young or old, they found they needed hugs and human connection as much as they needed their cell phones.
Soon, the townspeople thought nothing of greeting their neighbors and friends with this simple but uniquely human act. The people in the town stopped looking down at their phones and began to meet the eyes of people they passed in the street. Like the pandemic of isolation, a wellspring of human connection soon became common throughout the town.
As for the old man, he too eventually died, his body returned to the earth in which it came. As his spirit left his body, he felt the simultaneous hugs of thousands of people. That is all but one. He then felt her presence in all her ethereal glory. They embraced and hugged. It would be his last hug and it would last forever.