The need for hugs knows no boundaries. During a visit to St. Petersburg, Russia, just after communism ended, a woman sat on a wooden bench, watching our small American tour group as we studied the Pushkin fairy tale carvings at a playground. Silver hair peeked out from her white knit cap. She wore a purple dress covered with orange and yellow flowers. A faded copper bracelet circled her wrist. She held yarn, a pair of knitting needles and an orange cap. Laced, worn shoes covered her ankles.
She smiled, pointed to herself and said, “Katya.”
“Welcome, my friends,” Katya said, through our interpreter, Irena. She wiped her eyes. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for you.”
Katya reminded us that the Russians and the Americans were much the same. Both countries had suffered through wars and political misunderstandings.
“All of you from America, and all of us from Russia, now we can know each other and be friends,” she said.
Katya stood up. I leaned over and wrapped my arms around her neck. A moment later, I felt her arms around me. She nestled her head into my shoulder. Her soft skin rested against my face, and her body trembled with sobs as we hugged each other tightly for a long time.
Finally, Katya stepped back, tears spilling down her cheeks. Those soft, brown eyes looked into mine.
“All my life, I have wanted to say goodbye to communism and hello to the Americans,” she said. “Teach love, my new friends. Teach love.”
What better way to teach love than through a heartfelt hug?
At my 45th class reunion, my friend LaRue smiled up at me from her wheelchair and held out her arms. Time had worked its mischief well since our carefree high-school years so long ago, and infirmities troubled all of us. LaRue had multiple sclerosis, yet, here she was, her arms outstretched.
“I came for the hugs,” she said. “I don’t get many of those these days.”
I looked around the room; no one was shaking hands. Old friends, and folks some of us hardly knew, threw their arms around each other and hugged. I’m sure my classmates felt as wanted and cared about, and as “at home,” as I did.
A hug seems to set the world right again. I remember my father picking me up after a nasty fall, Mama wrapping her arms around me when I needed comforting, and my big sister hugging me when I fell out of the swing.
Throughout life, spouses die, children move away, and physical limitations take their toll. For many, the hugging stops, but the need for hugs never will. Something about that genuine tactile touch always warms the heart and brings peace to the soul.
The other day, I visited a care facility for Alzheimer patients. As I walked through the door, an elderly woman approached me.
“You came!” she exclaimed, her arms outstretched, as tears filled her eyes. “Bethany, I knew you’d come!”
I had no idea who Bethany was, but I knew that this woman, this stranger, needed a hug. She clung to me for a while, then she was lost again, like my mother, who also suffered from Alzheimer disease, had been, in a world I could only imagine.
Whenever anyone reaches out to me for a hug, I remember Katya’s admonition to “teach love,” and I give him or her a hug.