{"id":50265,"date":"2020-12-25T00:05:39","date_gmt":"2020-12-25T09:05:39","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/writers-at-large.com\/riff\/?p=50265"},"modified":"2021-06-16T15:22:25","modified_gmt":"2021-06-16T23:22:25","slug":"the-ineffability-of-a-hug","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/writersatlarge.com\/riff\/the-ineffability-of-a-hug\/","title":{"rendered":"The Ineffability of a Hug"},"content":{"rendered":"

[et_pb_section fb_built=”1″ _builder_version=”4.7.4″ width=”100%” custom_margin=”|||0px|false|false”][et_pb_row column_structure=”3_5,2_5″ _builder_version=”4.7.4″ background_size=”initial” background_position=”top_left” background_repeat=”repeat” width=”93%” max_width=”2022px” custom_margin=”|||8%|false|false”][et_pb_column type=”3_5″ _builder_version=”3.25″ custom_padding=”|||” custom_padding__hover=”|||”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.7.4″ background_size=”initial” background_position=”top_left” background_repeat=”repeat” custom_margin=”|1%|||false|false” custom_padding=”|3%|||false|false”]<\/p>\n

BEHIND THE SCENES:<\/strong><\/h3>\n

 
\n[\/et_pb_text][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.7.4″ text_text_color=”#ffffff” background_color=”rgba(0,60,79,0.5)” background_size=”initial” background_position=”top_left” background_repeat=”repeat” custom_margin=”|-10%|||false|false” custom_padding=”5%|12%|5%|2%|false|false”]SETTING:<\/strong><\/span> This morning, 6:30. Jan is sitting at her computer. Steve walks in with a cup of coffee.<\/p>\n

STEVE:<\/strong><\/span> Are you going to walk this morning?<\/p>\n

JAN:<\/strong><\/span> No, I\u2019m going to work on a blog.<\/p>\n

STEVE (Happy to know she\u2019s writing):<\/strong> <\/span>What are you going to write about?<\/p>\n

JAN:<\/strong><\/span> \u201cThe Ineffability of a Hug.\u201d<\/p>\n

STEVE:<\/strong> <\/span>Ohhh\u2026what are you going to say?<\/p>\n

JAN (after a slight pause):<\/strong><\/span> I don\u2019t want to talk about it, because I\u2019ll cry. That\u2019s why I just want to get it all written in words.<\/p>\n

STEVE (walks out of the room, sipping his coffee):<\/strong> <\/span>Okay.\u00a0<\/span>[\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][et_pb_column type=”2_5″ _builder_version=”4.7.4″ _module_preset=”default”][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/janmorrill.files.wordpress.com\/2020\/08\/grandma-hug2.jpeg?w=700&h=” _builder_version=”4.7.4″ _module_preset=”default” height=”411px” custom_margin=”||||false|false”][\/et_pb_image][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.7.4″ _module_preset=”default” width=”90%” custom_margin=”|2%|||false|false” custom_padding=”|2%|||false|false”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.7.4″ _module_preset=”default”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.9.4″ _module_preset=”default” custom_margin=”|2%|||false|false” hover_enabled=”0″ sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n

I wrote that little scene to \u201cshow\u201d the emotions behind my thoughts on hugs. Because to put it into words will be difficult\u2013ineffable.<\/p>\n

This past weekend, Tommy and Allie stayed with Steve and me while Adam and Emily went to Cleveland to look for a house. As you might imagine, the weekend was filled with joy, sadness, a few meltdowns (admittedly by each and every one of us at one point or another), and lots of memories.<\/p>\n

But, I managed to hold back the tears through most of it, torn between whether it\u2019s a good thing to let Tommy and Allie know how much I\u2019ll miss them, or whether it would scare them to see Grandma cry.<\/p>\n

The only time my eyes burned so hot, my lump in my throat got so big, and my eyes went from watering to brimming and overflowing were those times that Allie crawled into my lap, often saying, \u201cI love you, Grandma.\u201d<\/p>\n

Just typing the words brings tears back to my eyes.<\/p>\n

[\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row column_structure=”1_2,1_2″ _builder_version=”4.7.4″ background_size=”initial” background_position=”top_left” background_repeat=”repeat” custom_margin=”||0px||false|false” custom_padding=”5%||0px||false|false”][et_pb_column type=”1_2″ _builder_version=”3.25″ custom_padding=”|||” custom_padding__hover=”|||”][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/writersatlarge.com\/riff\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/11\/Photo-by-luizclas-from-Pexels.jpg” title_text=”Photo by luizclas from Pexels” align=”center” _builder_version=”4.7.4″ _module_preset=”default” height=”488px”][\/et_pb_image][\/et_pb_column][et_pb_column type=”1_2″ _builder_version=”3.25″ custom_padding=”|||” custom_padding__hover=”|||”][et_pb_text admin_label=”original” _builder_version=”4.9.4″ text_text_color=”#ffffff” background_color=”rgba(0,60,79,0.66)” background_size=”initial” background_position=”top_left” background_repeat=”repeat” max_width_tablet=”” max_width_phone=”300px” max_width_last_edited=”on|phone” module_alignment=”center” custom_margin=”-10%|||-70%|false|false” custom_margin_tablet=”0%|||0%|false|false” custom_margin_phone=”0%|||0%|false|false” custom_margin_last_edited=”on|phone” custom_padding=”5%|5%|5%|5%|true|true” hover_enabled=”0″ box_shadow_style=”preset2″ sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n

As I felt her head pressed against my chest, as I buried my nose in the scent of her hair, as I felt the weight of her little body pressed against mine, a flood of thoughts and memories filled me up and carried me away to the past and future.<\/p>\n

When my children were small, and especially if I was experiencing some sort of challenge, like a day full of tantrums, or a night full of wakings, I remember holding them and rocking them, their heads pressed against my chest. I wondered if they could hear my heartbeat, and if it might comfort them.<\/p>\n

[\/et_pb_text][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.7.4″ background_size=”initial” background_position=”top_left” background_repeat=”repeat” custom_padding=”5%||0px|2%|false|false”]But most of all, I remember telling myself it would all be over too quickly, and that even though I was tired and even though their crying might have interrupted sleep and I had to be up for work early in the morning, someday I would miss those hugs.<\/p>\n

I imagined myself into the future, at a time when I truly did miss their childhood and their hugs. From that future, I imagined transporting myself back in time so that I could be with them as children again, feeling their little bodies, their unconditional love, smelling the scent of them, and listening to the sound of their breaths become rhythmic as they fell asleep.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/dd>\n<\/dl>\n

[\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row column_structure=”1_2,1_4,1_4″ _builder_version=”4.7.4″ _module_preset=”default” width=”90%” custom_margin=”|2%|||false|false” custom_padding=”|2%|||false|false” locked=”off”][et_pb_column type=”1_2″ _builder_version=”4.7.4″ _module_preset=”default”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.9.4″ _module_preset=”default” width=”100%” custom_margin=”|2%|||false|false” custom_padding=”|2%|||false|false” custom_padding_tablet=”|2%|20%||false|false” custom_padding_phone=”||20%||false|false” custom_padding_last_edited=”on|phone”]<\/p>\n

So, as I hug any of my four grandchildren now, I\u2019m back to the far, far future. Farther than I\u2019d ever imagined as I used to hug my little kids.<\/p>\n

Now, the brevity of childhood is no longer in my imagination. I know it all too well, which makes the hugs even more precious and dear.<\/p>\n

Last night, I had a dream. It started out with a large group of people sitting on either side of long tables. We were to choose to sit across from a person whose story we wanted to know.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/div>\n

[\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][et_pb_column type=”1_4″ _builder_version=”4.7.4″ _module_preset=”default”][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/janmorrill.files.wordpress.com\/2020\/08\/img_0812.jpeg?w=700&h=” _builder_version=”4.7.4″ _module_preset=”default” custom_margin=”-10%||||false|false” border_width_all=”2px” box_shadow_style=”preset4″ box_shadow_horizontal=”6px” box_shadow_vertical=”12px” box_shadow_color=”rgba(0,60,79,0.66)”][\/et_pb_image][\/et_pb_column][et_pb_column type=”1_4″ _builder_version=”4.7.4″ _module_preset=”default”][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/janmorrill.files.wordpress.com\/2020\/08\/grandma-hug.jpg?w=700&h=” _builder_version=”4.7.4″ _module_preset=”default” custom_margin=”10%|||5%|false|false” border_width_all=”2px” box_shadow_style=”preset4″ box_shadow_color=”rgba(0,97,104,0.66)”][\/et_pb_image][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row column_structure=”1_4,1_4,1_2″ _builder_version=”4.7.4″ _module_preset=”default” width=”90%” custom_margin=”|2%|||false|false” custom_padding=”|2%|||false|false” locked=”off”][et_pb_column type=”1_4″ _builder_version=”4.7.4″ _module_preset=”default”][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/janmorrill.files.wordpress.com\/2020\/08\/img_0226.edit2_.jpg?w=700&h=” _builder_version=”4.7.4″ _module_preset=”default” custom_margin=”0%||||false|false” border_width_all=”2px” box_shadow_style=”preset4″ box_shadow_horizontal=”13px” box_shadow_vertical=”15px” box_shadow_spread=”-4px” box_shadow_color=”rgba(0,60,79,0.66)”][\/et_pb_image][\/et_pb_column][et_pb_column type=”1_4″ _builder_version=”4.7.4″ _module_preset=”default” background_color=”rgba(123,209,239,0.47″][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/janmorrill.files.wordpress.com\/2020\/05\/img_1177.jpg?w=700&h=” _builder_version=”4.7.4″ _module_preset=”default” custom_margin=”-15%|||5%|false|false” border_width_all=”2px” box_shadow_style=”preset4″ box_shadow_vertical=”11px” box_shadow_spread=”-1px” box_shadow_color=”rgba(0,60,79,0.66)”][\/et_pb_image][\/et_pb_column][et_pb_column type=”1_2″ _builder_version=”4.7.4″ _module_preset=”default”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.9.4″ _module_preset=”default” width=”100%” custom_margin=”|2%||5%|false|false” custom_padding=”|5%|||false|false” custom_padding_tablet=”20%|5%|||false|false” custom_padding_phone=”14%||||false|false” custom_padding_last_edited=”on|desktop”]<\/p>\n

I suspect the dream had to do with the loss I\u2019ve felt about the isolation of this pandemic\u2013that it\u2019s been so long since I\u2019ve been able to sit across the table from someone and just talk.<\/p>\n

As I sat, I began to talk to someone about sailing to Tortola. I was excited about the conversation, because I\u2019ve been to Tortola twice, and I knew we\u2019d have adventures to share.<\/p>\n

But then, Allie came up to me and asked to sit in my lap. She crawled up and I wrapped my arms around her. As I felt her body drift to sleep, the conversations around me softened and the people began to blur, until all that was left to the dream was the hug.<\/p>\n

Ineffable.<\/strong><\/p>\n

[\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][\/et_pb_section]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

BEHIND THE SCENES:   SETTING: This morning, 6:30. Jan is sitting at her computer. Steve walks in with a cup of coffee. STEVE: Are you going to walk this morning? JAN: No, I\u2019m going to work on a blog. STEVE (Happy to know she\u2019s writing): What are you going to write about? JAN: \u201cThe Ineffability […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":32,"featured_media":51618,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"on","_et_pb_old_content":"

BEHIND THE SCENES:<\/strong><\/p>

SETTING:<\/strong> This morning, 6:30. Jan is sitting at her computer. Steve walks in with a cup of coffee.<\/p>

STEVE:<\/strong> Are you going to walk this morning?<\/p>

JAN:<\/strong> No, I\u2019m going to work on a blog.<\/p>

STEVE (Happy to know she\u2019s writing):<\/strong> What are you going to write about?<\/p>

JAN:<\/strong> \u201cThe Ineffability of a Hug.\u201d<\/p>

STEVE:<\/strong> Ohhh\u2026what are you going to say?<\/p>

JAN (after a slight pause):<\/strong> I don\u2019t want to talk about it, because I\u2019ll cry. That\u2019s why I just want to get it all written in words.<\/p>

STEVE (walks out of the room, sipping his coffee):<\/strong> Okay.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

\"\"<\/a><\/p>

I wrote that little scene to \u201cshow\u201d the emotions behind my thoughts on hugs. Because to put it into words will be difficult\u2013ineffable.<\/p>

This past weekend, Tommy and Allie stayed with Steve and me while Adam and Emily went to Cleveland to look for a house. As you might imagine, the weekend was filled with joy, sadness, a few meltdowns (admittedly by each and every one of us at one point or another), and lots of memories.<\/p>

But, I managed to hold back the tears through most of it, torn between whether it\u2019s a good thing to let Tommy and Allie know how much I\u2019ll miss them, or whether it would scare them to see Grandma cry.<\/p>

The only time my eyes burned so hot, my lump in my throat got so big, and my eyes went from watering to brimming and overflowing were those times that Allie crawled into my lap, often saying, \u201cI love you, Grandma.\u201d<\/p>

Just typing the words brings tears back to my eyes.<\/p>

\"\"<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

As I felt her head pressed against my chest, as I buried my nose in the scent of her hair, as I felt the weight of her little body pressed against mine, a flood of thoughts and memories filled me up and carried me away to the past and future.<\/p>

When my children were small, and especially if I was experiencing some sort of challenge, like a day full of tantrums, or a night full of wakings, I remember holding them and rocking them, their heads pressed against my chest. I wondered if they could hear my heartbeat, and if it might comfort them.<\/p>

But most of all, I remember telling myself it would all be over too quickly, and that even though I was tired and even though their crying might have interrupted sleep and I had to be up for work early in the morning, someday I would miss those hugs.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

I imagined myself into the future, at a time when I truly did miss their childhood and their hugs. From that future, I imagined transporting myself back in time so that I could be with them as children again, feeling their little bodies, their unconditional love, smelling the scent of them, and listening to the sound of their breaths become rhythmic as they fell asleep.<\/p>

So, as I hug any of my four grandchildren now, I\u2019m back to the far, far future. Farther than I\u2019d ever imagined as I used to hug my little kids.<\/p>

Now, the brevity of childhood is no longer in my imagination. I know it all too well, which makes the hugs even more precious and dear.<\/p>

Last night, I had a dream. It started out with a large group of people sitting on either side of long tables. We were to choose to sit across from a person whose story we wanted to know.<\/p>

I suspect the dream had to do with the loss I\u2019ve felt about the isolation of this pandemic\u2013that it\u2019s been so long since I\u2019ve been able to sit across the table from someone and just talk.<\/p>

As I sat, I began to talk to someone about sailing to Tortola. I was excited about the conversation, because I\u2019ve been to Tortola twice, and I knew we\u2019d have adventures to share.<\/p>

But then, Allie came up to me and asked to sit in my lap. She crawled up and I wrapped my arms around her. As I felt her body drift to sleep, the conversations around me softened and the people began to blur, until all that was left to the dream was the hug.<\/p>

Ineffable.<\/p>

\"\"<\/a><\/dt>
Tommy<\/dd><\/dl>
\"\"<\/a><\/dt>
Allie<\/dd><\/dl>
\"\"<\/a><\/dt>
Jack<\/dd><\/dl>
\"\"<\/a><\/dt>
Harry<\/dd><\/dl><\/div>","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[9,10],"tags":[57,81,80,67,82],"class_list":["post-50265","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-let-there-be-light","category-stranger-than-fiction","tag-covid-19","tag-family","tag-hugs","tag-pandemic","tag-social-distancing"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/writersatlarge.com\/riff\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/50265","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/writersatlarge.com\/riff\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/writersatlarge.com\/riff\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/writersatlarge.com\/riff\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/32"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/writersatlarge.com\/riff\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=50265"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/writersatlarge.com\/riff\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/50265\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/writersatlarge.com\/riff\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/51618"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/writersatlarge.com\/riff\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=50265"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/writersatlarge.com\/riff\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=50265"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/writersatlarge.com\/riff\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=50265"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}