Squeeze

i'm a bit sentimental about hugs. i love the hugbook here. and everytime i receive one, i feel blessed and special and not so alone, and a little bit of hope. they are priceless to me and i treasure them. i know the power of hugs, my sister taught me, or maybe we taught each other... so even when she drives me mad, or i feel unappreciated, or she drives me mad--lol--i remember that my sister hugged me. i remember why hugs are so important, and that sometimes they are the means by which we survive. when my little sister and i were girls things with my mother would sometimes get really bad. and at night when the house was finally quiet and it was safe we'd sneak to the bathroom and turn the cold tap very slowly and soak washcloths in the water and bring them back to our room so we could press the cold onto our bruises and welts. we'd climb into one bed and i would hold her and if it were very late and very quiet i would sing softly. and she would cry and we gave each other hugs and until we fell asleep. hugs were very important to us when we were small. they were gifts we could give to each other, a secret knowledge between us that no matter what SHE says or does, no matter what THEY do or say, you are strong enough to live through this, you are not stupid, you are beautiful, you are loved, you are not alone because we have each other and always will.  when i left home, my sister would sometimes sneak the telephone and call me; usually she'd be crying, or her voice would be heavy and wet. she never called on a good day, only when mother had done or said something cruel or hurt her beyond what she could bear. and that was bad because she's always been stronger than me, always borne more than her share, always been defiant and so hard to break.  but when she called, it was always to ask for a hug because she needed that connection, needed to reminded of our secret knowledge and that it would be enough to get her through the next day. and our "ritual" was always the same; i don't remember how we started doing this, but over the years, it was constant--the same words, the same reasons, over and over and over again. i would say: put the phone on your shoulder and press down your ear. can you hear me?  yes, she would say.  okay, take you right hand and pull it around your waist. take your left hand and put it on your right shoulder. are your hands there? yes, she would say, and usually between hitching breaths.  good. now squeeze. do you love me?  yes, and i could always hear her tears.  squeeze again. do you know i love you?  yes.  who loves you little may?  you love me.  and who will always love you?  you'll always love me.  squeeze harder.  you know that line from Delores Clairborne: Sometimes you have to be a high-riding bitch to survive. Sometimes being a bitch is all a woman has to hold onto. i think that's true; but it's also true that sometimes you need a hug to survive--sometimes all you need to hold on is having someone holding onto you, hugging you back, keeping you close, reminding you that there is love in the world and that there's some that's just for you. i'm going to go downstairs and hug my sister now. but it's important for me to say too, thank you for the hugs in my hugbook. thank you for keeping me close and safe, for giving me a little of the love that's in the world. i need it more than i can say, and it means more than i'll ever have words to express.