Another Puzzle Piece

I shifted a little, hoping to give him a pocket to breathe in. He shifted back, content to struggle for oxygen as he burrowed his face tighter into the curve of my neck.

The same ritual, every night. I stop for the last hug and kiss, the last bit of conversation, the last of the day. Sometimes a song, sometimes not. That is usually dependent on my mood, which is sad.

But I am often so weary at the end of the day. The two youngest guys wear this middle-aged momma plum out, and I am often battling the desire to rush the evening ritual.

It is helpful, this evening meeting. Most days are hard, full of stress from just life in general and adoption in particular. So this sweet one-on-one is helpful on so many levels. It ends the day on a positive note, for both of us. It pulls to the surface of my consciousness the feelings of love that are there. I experience the filling of patience and strength and hope as Jake and I cuddle. I am hopeful that he experiences the ability to forgive my lack of patience that is seen so often.

Jake grabs my neck in the tightest hug, burying his face into the side, and hangs on. As though his life depends on it. It was uncomfortable at first; not your typical way of hugging. But I knew there was some sort of deep-seated need that he was reaching way out to meet for himself, and I quickly became thankful to be placed by God into that position to fill it for him.

I asked him tonight why he hugged me that way, so tightly and without an end to the burrowing. Not the first time I've asked. Honestly, I just want to hear from him that I'm meeting some need he has! (I am pitiful...)

"I dunno..." was the sleepy reply.

"Why, Jake?" (I really need to hear! I'm reaching out with my own needs...)

"It's warm. You're warm."

I hug him tighter. This skin-to-skin is good for us both.

Then, a new question: "Jake, did you do this with the ladies in Vietnam?" Asking again for info about the orphanage.

"No, never. Just here."

"Well, they hugged you, right?"

"No."

"Not ever? Did they kiss you?"

"No. They not know. They not know how."

Just like that, matter-of-fact. No anger or sadness in those dark almond eyes for what should've been. Not even recognition that his most basic need, the need for affirming love, was ignored, overlooked, untouched. Just stating the fact of how he thought life was supposed to be (empty...). I'm wondering when he just gave up looking for what was supposed to fill his hunger.

Oh, Jake...

If you are reading this, imagine yourself as a five-year-old boy who went to sleep each night with no one to hug or kiss or sing you to sleep. Ever. And you didn't even know that this was supposed to happen.

I am sick to my stomach as I'm once again faced with the void that was his life. And I am sick to my stomach that I am ever impatient with him and thankful that the end of the day has come.

I held him so close, with a much longer time of holding and kissing, and told him how sorry I was.

And that I was so thankful that he was home, so we could catch up.