Open when you need a hug

This is a hug. I need you to take it seriously.

It's the long kind. The kind where neither of us lets go first and it gets a little awkward around the eight second mark, and we keep going anyway because we both know you needed it more than you said.

I've been trying to remember the best hug you ever gave me, and I think it was outside the hospital after Grandpa's surgery. I came out of those doors not knowing how to stand, and you didn't say anything at all. You just put your arms around me in the parking lot and held on while I shook. You didn't ask if I was okay. You knew I wasn't. You let me not be.

I never thanked you for that. I'm thanking you now.

Whatever's happening, whatever made you open this, I want you to know you don't have to be strong for me. You can call and not talk. You can come over and sit on my couch and we'll watch something stupid and you never have to explain.

And if this paper hug doesn't cut it, tell me. I'll get in the car. I don't care how far it is. I'll bring snacks.

Noah

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