The Hug
Sixteen years of waiting ended tonight for a little girl. In a parallel path filled with regrets, the waiting also ended for her father.
The little girl always wanted a father to hug. The father regretted not being there to be hugged, lamenting that it was too late to recapture the missing years. The mother sat listening; watching.
This little drama played out in our home this evening.
Cici heard what Ping and I were discussing. She came out from her bedroom to join us in the living room. Papa wants a hug, Ping told her. No, I told Cici, what we are talking about is how things could have been so different if you and I had known each other when you were just a little girl. You would have grown up hugging me, and as you got older, it would have still felt natural to you. Now it is difficult to go back in time and build that kind of relationship.
Without hesitation, and without saying a word, Cici came across the room to where I was sitting. Her eyes were shining. Ping was sitting on the ottoman, holding my feet, waiting to see what would happen.
Cici leaned down, put her arms around my neck, pulled me close, and gave me a hug as I hugged her in return. It was an emotional moment for all three of us, but more so for Cici and me, I believe. Ping wanted it, but Cici and I are the ones who had to bridge the gap created by years of living apart in different cultures on different parts of the globe. Cici, you are so sweet, I told her. This means so much to me.
What else can one say at a moment like this, I thought. The important thing is to always remember this moment. And I will. Somehow I think my girls will remember it too. A hug knows no language barriers. I knew what Cici was saying; she knew I was saying it too.
I'm gonna get verklempt if you keep this up!
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Now there is a word, Smitty. That happens to me often when I talk about our little girl.
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