The Hug

Haunts
27 Comments

One of my mom’s favorite sayings was “Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take but by the moments that take our breath away.” My family’s history is littered with beautiful souls whose lives were robbed of breaths but rendered bountiful in breathless moments.

This hug is one of those moments. This is my mother dropping me off for college in August 1983. We’d finished unpacking and setting up my dorm room. We’d walked the grounds of the University of Virginia until I was acquainted with my new home. We’d roamed the Lawn and contemplated all the others who’d come before and done the same. We’d lunched at Macadoo’s and laughed at the fact that I didn’t know who Ty Cobb was (the name of the salad I’d ordered.) We counted the number of times we passed a female co-ed wearing a sweatshirt and pearls, a peculiar fashion trend that I would soon emulate. We stashed the rolled quarters we’d collected that summer in expectation of me doing my own laundry. And we lingered in anticipation of this moment, this hug.

This hug was a breathless moment for both of us because of where we’d been. We’d made it. That was the feeling. We’d made it through the death of my father, and in a way that was proof we could survive and still be happy and laugh and remember. We’d made it through so many high school exams and endless nights of homework and worry. We’d juggled our insane schedules, although our attempts were not graceful as being on time to places had lost its relevance. We’d endured cheerleading tryouts, lost and won. We’d outlasted financial highs and lows. We’d survived car troubles and wanting to defiantly fix a flat on our own. I’d lost count of how many times she’d said, “This too shall pass.” And it always did. We’d withstood the love dramas that we’d both encountered. We’d suffered through bad haircuts and fashion faux pas, and we’d danced our way through the seventies. We were both proud of each other for these and so many other tumults along the way.

Yes, we were breaking away from each other in this moment, but through those agitated teenage years, we’d forged a bond that seemed unbreakable. I’d struggled, like all teenagers, to find my identity and define my interests—outside of boys.  She’d struggled to find a vocation that matched her passion—outside of motherhood. I’d wrestled with homework and knowing when I’d studied enough; she’d struggled with knowing if she’d mothered enough—hugs, rules, laughter, and words of encouragement were her instruments of love. And then, standing in front of Echols Dorm, I couldn’t thank her enough. Her commitment to me and my education was just one of the many promises she’d made and kept.

We both understood that we’d achieved an important goal in this moment—me, to go to college; she, to know that being a strong, single mother had its rewards. I couldn’t have written the script that got us to this point any more poignantly. As we held onto each other, we had no idea what was ahead for us, but this frozen moment was sad, exhilarating, bittersweet, proud, and took our breath away.

27 Comments

  4. Oh my goodness! You continue to amaze me of how you can take a picture, write something and make me feel like I was there! ?. You have such a gift !! Your mom would have been/is so proud of the beautiful person you have become !❤️

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  7. Oh my gosh, this is so beautifully written…Whew! Please submit this one for a writing award! I’m so proud of you. Mom is too. ❤️

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  8. Denise this is great. There are many “drop offs” in our lives that give us a “future and a hope”. Jeremiah gives us a picture of that. Your picture (story) gives us the modern day version. God weaves us in so many ways. Great job, my friend.

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  10. This is absolutely beautiful. I was hanging on every word. You painted a picture better than any artist I have ever seen. Thanks for sharing your God Given Gift with us. I for one, want more.

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  12. Dear Denise,
    You just gave a little brother a wonderful gift. Reading this was like spending a couple of moments with my beloved sister once again. She may not of had quantity of years but the quality was electric.
    As soon as I see her again I will fill her in on how wonderful her children have turned out. Love you

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  13. Denise, I didn’t know you at this time in your life, but as I read your story I understood and loved yourom ( having now been in her position) but I also got a glimpse of how my Mother may have felt dropping me off. Your words are perfect… Wether reminding us of an event that has happened already… Or getting a sneak peak of something we need to prepare for. Your Mother was an amazing person. She is totally reflected in you. Love you! Sharon

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  14. Thank you Neice for this beautiful writing that gives me a moment here to reflect and remember Mammy, and reflect on your sweet relationship. I feel through your writing I am understanding and appreciating her even more. I’d also love to sit with you now and ask some questions! 😛 Makes me want to chat about this! Soothing for the soul. Looking forward to the next read.

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