He Hugs Me
*This poem is based on my foster son coming to me for a hug, something he had never attempted the 8 months he had been in our home. He was adopted and I have lost contact with him and have lost a part of me as well.
Patrick Dierschke
He hugs me.
His arms are stiff and his gait is awkward. He looks like the Tin Man, rusty and clunky, and with less grace. The unsure way in which he approaches underscores how much he has missed in his few years on this planet, how much has been taken away from him. Where to begin…
By now, he should have had a million interactions with his parents: smiles, kisses, caresses, nose wiping, bedtime stories, etc. The burden is great…
By now, he should know his parents are there for him no matter what, to nurture and protect him, helping him understand his place in the world. Why does this happen…
He falls into my lap with a great big smile. He collapses on me, knowing I am there to catch him. I need rest…
In these moments, he is being equipped with the ability to formulate a sense of the world, laying a foundation on which the rest of his life will be built. How can someone not want to be a part of that?
He attempts to climb up with me on the recliner to sit and rock. After some effort, he succeeds, no words exchanged. He lays his head upon my heart, innately drawn to the pulse of the caregiver. The brokenness of it all…
He should know how to embrace, to sit in a lap and rock. How does he not know?
He just wants to be loved, to belong, to know his needs are being met, that he is not worthless. Maybe…
He loves me, letting me know I belong, I am valuable. Maybe…
He embraces me, allows me to sit in his lap and just rock. He knows that is what I need, even though I am not able to tell him so. I hope…
He lets me know he loves me, not forcing me to use words I do not understand. I just want to hear the sound of his heart, comforting me in a way nothing else does. For now…
I get to choose things: my snack, bedtime story, milk or juice, where I sit at the table. Who would not want to be part of that?
I fall, he catches. I keep falling, just to make sure he keeps catching. Just to make sure…
He is present for me, in the now, not just a bystander. I guess…
He is trying so hard to make up for the million interactions I did not get since birth. I deserve the smiles, kisses, caresses, nose wiping, bedtime stories, etc. Why should I expect anything less?
His arms encircle me. He looks like Spiderman with his web of security in my traumatized world. The sure way in which he cradles me underscores how much he knows I have missed. Sounds good, anyway…
He hugs me.