Group Hug for The Grinch

A Christmas Story for Cynics

(Photo courtesy of Pixabay)

Last night, at a Christmas party in the East Village, I found myself in the center of a group hug.

I am not the kind of person who has ever even said the words, group hug. That phrase instantly produces a muscle memory in my body; an eyeroll, as when I hear other horrors such as You look like you need a hug, Hug it out, and worst of all, Can I hug you?

I am not a hugger. I am a cynic; move along. There are no hugs for you here.

But last night, in my friend Chris’s tiny apartment on East Third, I was enveloped by old friends I love, and who love me. Friends I hadn’t seen in years. Friends that knew me when I was an actress and before I got hurt. Friends who remain so even though I never call.

And I said what I felt:

I would like to die this way.

Someone responded,

Surrounded by the people you love.

Exactly right.

Life is a thresher. Right before I left for this party, I received a text from my closest friend in the city that her father had died, after a battle with dementia. His illness these past couple of years seemed a particularly brutal way to end such a well-lived…