My Turn: Remembering my 'last' hug and kiss

We all remember our first hug and our first kiss, but now I have occasion to remember my “last” ones, too.

Hey, I’m an octogenarian in my fifth month of isolation from all save Carole, my wife of 60 years. And while we can indulge, I have had no contact with family or friends or strangers since late February.

But I sure do remember the last nonfamily hug and kiss I had. (Carole, promise not to get jealous!)

The hug occurred in mid-February. As I was proceeding down the ramp to my dermatologist’s office in a medical building in Melville, I saw, paused at the halfway turnaround, a FedEx deliverer and his emptied cart waiting for me to pass. Rather than jockey my way around him, I said, “I’ll let you come up, cause I’m a little wobbly.”

As he pushed the cart ahead of him, I got to the side as much as I could. Then it happened. Instead of passing me, he stopped dead alongside me and gave me a big hug.

I was a little stunned and asked what that was for. He replied, “I thought you said you were lonely.” We both laughed when I told him what I really said, then we continued on our respective ways.

Though I was not lonely, it was an awesome gesture on this busy young man’s part. How many needy strangers has he hugged and aided? Better yet, how many have experienced at least temporary relief for this kindness?

Now for the kiss. I am in St. Joseph Hospital in Bethpage on a winter day and scheduled to be released — always a great feeling. I am in fine shape, and Carole waits at home to get my call to come and pick me up.

One small detail: I have to await a visit from my physician to give the OK to the house doctor to let me go. Needless to say I am awakened at around 5 a.m. and ready to go. Certainly I would have lunch at home. Noon comes and goes, and I lie waiting. Midafternoon rolls around, and I am getting edgier and edgier, more and more bored. How long can I lie here and wait?

Then it happens. A man comes into the room with two wolves on leashes. OK, they were officially Siberian huskies, I would learn later, but I know a wolf when I see one, much less two. So for the purposes of this story, I insist on my characterization. One was all black with piercing ice-blue eyes, the other all white.

The handler stands in the doorway, “Anyone here wish a visit from a therapy dog?”

My roommate, a burly 30-something, looks out, sees the animals and says no; he’s afraid of them.

I jumped at the offer and say, “Bring them both here.”

Next thing I know, Thor is in my prone face. I love it! After a respectful time, the handler sends Tsar there to replace Thor. As with Thor, I grab the wolf by the neck and body and give him a nice massage — not a pat — a deep-tissue massage.

If dogs or wolves can smile, Tsar is, huge fangs in his mouth inches from my face.

I say to the handler, “I have to confess: I am not sick and didn’t really need this.”

He replies, “You’re smiling.”

Indeed I was! For the first time that day!

It’s time for the wolves and him to leave, so he tells Tsar to get down. Then it happens: He goes the extra few inches to my face, opens his huge mouth and gives me a lick across the face like I never had before.

I was not only smiling, but we all had a laugh. It made my day. It was not long after that I was checked out, feeling great.

Ed Cryer,

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