Grateful for the hugs I can share, haunted by the ones I can’t

I’M AT THE STAGE OF PANDEMIC LIFE WHEN I AM STILL counting the hugs.

The first time I invited a good friend not just over to but my house, postvaccination, sans masks, I couldn’t even wait until she walked up to my door—I ran outside to greet her, and we tackle-hugged each other in the driveway. We both held on tight, the otherworldly buzz of a thousand cicadas in our ears, as we took turns exclaiming how good it was to see each other. We hadn’t hung out in person since January 2020, and of course I was looking forward to talking, sharing a meal, catching up on all her news—but somehow I’d forgotten that before any of that happened, I would also get her. It was my first hug from a friend in more than a year, and a reminder of just how comforting a good hug can be.