One More Hug

Hi folks!

Today’s post is a bit more heart tugging, so just be prepared.

Over the past month, I’ve found myself thinking a lot about loss—and about the people who somehow become part of our lives without ever technically being “family.”

We tend to reserve words like grief and heartbreak for those closest to us by blood, but sometimes there are people who enter our story in much quieter ways. They’re teachers, customers, coworkers, neighbors, friends, or simply familiar faces we look forward to seeing.

Somewhere along the way, without even realizing it, they carve out a little space in our hearts. And when they’re suddenly no longer there, we realize just how much that space meant to us.

Recently, I’ve experienced that feeling with the passing of two customers I came to know through my time working at the pharmacy. They weren’t relatives. We didn’t spend holidays together or have years of family photographs tucked away in albums.

But whenever they walked through those doors—or whenever I happened to see them out and about—there was a hug waiting. There was a smile, a conversation, and that simple feeling of being genuinely happy to see one another.

Those interactions may have seemed small to anyone watching, but to me, they mattered. And now, knowing there won’t be another unexpected encounter or one more hug makes me realize just how precious those seemingly ordinary moments really were.

Catherine and Susan–I’m talking about you. And I thank you for all of those lovely moments that I’ll be able to keep with me.

That same feeling hit differently with the loss of my high school choir teacher, DAKS (Debra Kline Smith). Teachers have this incredible ability to enter our lives for only a chapter and somehow leave fingerprints on the rest of the book. She believed in me, challenged me, encouraged me, and helped nurture a love of music that continues to be such an important part of who I am today.

Years can pass, life can take us in completely different directions, and yet the impact someone made during those formative years never really disappears. Losing her was another reminder that some of the people who shape us most profoundly may never share our last name.

Maybe that’s one of the beautiful and heartbreaking things about life: we get to choose a much bigger definition of family.

Family can be the person whose face lights up when they see you. It can be the teacher who saw something in you before you saw it in yourself.

It can be the customer who became a friend, the coworker who became a confidant, or the person you always made sure to hug because somehow a handshake simply wasn’t enough.

We never really know which ordinary interaction will eventually become a treasured memory.

We don’t know when “See you next time” might quietly become the last goodbye.

So hug people. Tell them you’re happy to see them. Stop for the conversation even when you’re busy. Say the kind thing you’re thinking instead of assuming there will be another opportunity.

Let people know when they’ve made an impression on your life. Because love doesn’t require shared DNA, and neither does grief.

Some people simply find their way into our hearts and make themselves at home there. And while losing them hurts, what a beautiful privilege it is that our paths crossed at all.

In the end, perhaps one of the greatest ways we can honor the people we’ve lost is to hold the people who are still here just a little closer—and never underestimate the power of one more hug.

Sprinkle sunshine always,

JP!