Dear Scott...or why I drove all over the nation delivering hugs.

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Dear Scott,

On September 1, 2022, I lectured to the students of Alvernia University in Reading, PA.

You should have seen me because I’ve never been bashful around a mic, but I was nervous about being on stage for the first time in almost two years due to COVID.

The talk about my travels around the world went well, but what set this one apart was when one student remarked that I was the happiest person he'd ever met and asked if I had any regrets.

I made a joke as I always do but then spoke about September 7, 2001, when I didn’t respond to a beautiful compliment my lifelong friend Kevin gave me.?

“I will do it another time,” I thought.

But my time ran out when he died in the World Trade Center attacks.?

Sharing this on stage brought me to tears, and I told the young audience everything we experience is a life lesson, and I learned to release the love in my heart as I felt it in real time.

"Don't be macho and hold it in because there may be a time when you can't respond, and that moment still haunts me," adding that my tears were the moments of regret I now live with, which prompted seven students to step up from the theater and shrouded me with every good emotion humans can display.

The surrounding embrace was soul-stirring, and I wish you had seen it.

The experience of it all touched me so much that on September 7, I made an emotional plea on Instagram for people to release the love in their hearts.

"Share it," I said, adding, "If it is weird, then let it be weird for the other guy hearing it - not for you in sharing it!! Don't hoard your love."

I also randomly met and hugged Jon Bon Jovi that day which doesn’t have a damn thing to do with anything but… Holy shit…I hugged Bon Jovi; how cool is that??

A few days later, I was home in Philadelphia but paused to watch the 9/11 victims name-reading ceremony on TV.

I tried not to cry for whatever reason, but somehow, I always do.

Just hearing my friend's name, Kevin L Bowser, got me thinking of the plane crashing into his floor, recalling the madness of the time, and remembering the sadness of his family.

And as the memories of those moments poured in, my tears began to stream out.

But my pain eased as I thought about being a part of over half a million embraces around the planet and even meeting you when we bicycled from Cairo to Cape Town.?

But your mind wasn't on the horrific events of 2001.

Instead, your thoughts were elsewhere and planning on how to take your last breaths.?

Your brother called to tell me you were gone, and the news left me speechless.

I knew you got in your moods occasionally and wouldn’t return my calls or texts, but I had no idea you were also shutting out the world.

I had no idea things were this dark for you.

After hanging up the phone, I scoured my devices for your messages, looking for something, I don't know what.?

Some clue.?

Some hint.?

But there weren’t any, or maybe there was.?

In one of your last texts, you sent me a meme of the Big Lebowski that said; The Dude abides. I don’t know about you, but I take comfort in that. It’s good knowin’ he’s out there. The Dude.Takin’ ‘er easy for all of us sinners.

In addition to the meme you wrote, “Love you,” and because you had never said those words, I stayed awake all night wondering if that was a sign I should have caught.

Everything felt awful the following day, so to avoid anyone experiencing this, I made a bleary and teary-eyed social media post pledging to listen to anyone else’s suicidal ideations.

I didn’t know what I could do but promised to listen.?

?The response was overwhelming.

Friends, former employers, and people I have hugged and only met once contacted me.

One Sudanese Uber driver called me to say, “I hear you are in pain and am here for you, brother.”?

Another Uber driver, yes, I give my “hug coupon” cards to all my Uber drivers, called and opened up about their depression issues and a suicide attempt they made as a teen.

They shared that therapy helped them get to a better place and then asked for “some Scott stories.”?

As they listened to me sob through over 45 minutes of stories about you, I thanked my lucky stars for this warming gust of humanity, fellowship, and kindness.

But I also felt awful that this same life-giving wind couldn't touch and aerate your being.

Dammit!!

Dude, I wish you would have called me, someone, anyone, but you didn't, so I soon found myself in Flagstaff, Arizona, feeling nervous and standing before another microphone.

This time it was at your memorial service.

Your family asked me to be the first speaker, and I opened with a joke.

?"In the interest of diversity and inclusion, here I am, the black guy!!"

There were a few laughs, but even more when I said this was one of the "whitest" events I had experienced and asked whether anyone in attendance even had a tan.?

You should have seen it when everyone looked around and shook their head "no."

I chuckled aloud, but I was still too tense to focus on what I wanted to say, so I looked above the heads of the sad faces, took a deep breath, and said that we all might be there in your name, but love underpinned our movements that day.

Love of Family.

Love of a fallen friend.

Love of a spouse you may be supporting.?

Just love.

“The best way to display love..is with a hug,” I said, urging everyone to embrace someone they didn't come with or didn't know and possibly create a memorable and supportive moment.?

Then I shared the story of when we were bicycling across central China and in the middle of nowhere.

You remember, you not only convinced a restaurant manager that I wa the world's "next R&B sensation" and had just wrapped up a world tour as R Kelly's opening act but also that I should sing to a private birthday party celebration.

And they believed you…And I sang!!!

It’s still funny to think that somewhere in China, some old man proudly tells his friends, “Big Dave sang me happy birthday,” and his friends are looking back at him, replying, “Uhhhh…Who the fuck is Big Dave?!"

And with that, your memorial began.

Listening to people's funny, heartwarming, and singularly "Scott" stories was helpful, but I sensed an undercurrent of frustration within each one because I think they were unaware of your struggles.?

I know I was, and it hurt to hear.

“How could we all have been so blind,” I thought.

One of the last speakers summed up the experience for me when he quietly said, “Scott was one of the most intelligent men I ever met, but I would ask him one thing if he were here now….”?

Then pausing to choke back some tears, he somberly declared, “What now, Scott, what now?”

And that was the question.

What now?

That same question was in my head in 2001 at my friend Kevin’s memorial service.?

I didn’t believe that September 11 was the ignominious note that my friend should leave on, and I felt the same way about you, Scott.?

So just like twenty-plus years ago, I attended another friend’s funeral, thinking, "I will let him go…eventually… just not today.”

I held back much of my tears to remain strong for your family but determined to find a way for you to live on just a bit longer; one question dominated my mind.

What now??!

I tried hanging out with your friends to distract myself from thinking about it all too much, but that didn’t work because Flagstaff is filled with nothing but LL Bean-type white folks.

You know what I mean, the real outdoorsy type of white folks who will sit outside in the cold and drink cold beer, and that ain't me.?

After the tenth person left the bar door open, letting the cold air in, I thought, “fuck this,” and walked to your house and, once seated at your kitchen table, released all of my emotions for one long ugly cry.

My tears flowed until I got hungry, and then I cursed you out because I couldn’t find any food.?

You probably heard me yelling, "You bastard!!” into an empty refrigerator.?

But between the tears and primal yells of hunger, I figured out my “what now” and decided to stage the nation's first-ever hug delivery tour.

??

Yeah, I know it sounds weird.

But embracing half a million people around the planet has deepened my appreciation for the power of a hug, and I wasn't going to hoard the happiness in my heart.

I decided to share your story and my love of life with those who wanted and needed it to give them a bit of hope and a smile.?

I would do what I could to avoid others experiencing what I was going through.?

?I know it was a tall order, but I thought of your words when we met up in Flagstaff during my 48-state #SmileWithBigDave Tour and asked for your thoughts on a man attempting to create smiles in the world during a pandemic.

Standing outside your home, you said, "It's a simple thing to do, but it's not easy" to get people to "pull the layers back and see the smiles underneath."

That was December 12, 2020, the last time we spoke in person.

You were right; achieving this wasn't easy, but I took your advice and did the "simple" thing by basing my hug delivery path on the 48-state route I took in 2020.

Then I took more of your advice and "pulled back the layers" to add some of the places we bicycled through in 2008 to revisit our past and see if I "missed" something.

After that, I posted my map on social media and pledged to bring hugs and smiles directly to people's doors if they were within 30 miles of my route.?

Yeah, I know it sounds crazy, but the thought of tragically losing two dear friends on September 11 sounds crazy too, so what else am I to do??

You left us with so many questions.?

?On November 14, 2022, my nationwide hug delivery tour began, and with almost every person I embraced, I asked one question: What does a hug mean to you??

Well, maybe my tour didn’t actually begin because of the thirty-plus hug tours I have taken around the world; this is the only one that started with, “Hey man, don’t even get out of the car; just take me to the hospital!”?

??

That’s right, the first scheduled embrace of this tour had a non-life-threatening issue that required immediate specialized medical attention, and he asked me to take him to the emergency room.

?And with THAT, the hug delivery tour began, and my simple question touched upon a range of emotions, from a guy in Cleveland who quipped that my hugs were “an invasion” of his "personal space" to the guy in Philly who said hugs were the "purest expression of love."?

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Sometimes people questioned my actions, like the guy at The Commons in Detroit who kept following me around the cafe/laundromat and asking why I was hugging people around the world and why it had to be me.

You should have seen his face when I answered, "someone has to do it."

Then you should have seen my face when he shared that it was the 46th anniversary of his brother's death, and he woke up wanting a hug. After our embrace, he said he didn't know what forces were moving the world, but "you are right where you need to be."

Speaking about being right where I needed to be, in a Rockford, Illinois, hotel, I just happened to share a table with a woman whose husband had committed suicide years prior.

?

Sitting with this woman and exchanging suicide stories initially turned our meal into sobs and scrambled eggs, but her words eventually helped me.?

And as her college-age sons sat at the table, the conversation and mood became more uplifting as we talked about how the family has rallied around the mother and grown closer to make it through this difficult time.?

??

Putting myself out there so much on these tours can leave me emotionally vulnerable, so I needed and appreciated the richness within this serendipitous moment, especially when the woman thanked me for doing this tour and said, “you really are strong for doing this.”

??Many people I encountered on this tour called me "strong,' but I didn't always feel like it, like when I met someone who shared their thoughts on you and your suicide and casually said, "I get him."?

Not knowing what they meant by "I get him," I continued listening as they described having a rare disorder that would eventually lead to an awful death.

"I get your friend. He felt like there was no way out...I am tired and live with that (feeling) every day,"

The words and practical tone they used to speak about taking their life one day were haunting.?

There were so many things I wanted to say to this person, but after catching myself calling them "Scott" a few times, I wasn't even aware of who I was speaking with and just shut my mouth.

But I did think.?

?Who was I talking to at this moment??

?Who was I to say anything?

?What could I actually do?

These were tough questions to which I didn't have any answers, so I let them speak, hugged them, and told them to call me before doing anything.?

Sadly, that was all I could do.?

?

But the tour wasn't always this heavy, emotionally.

When I was late delivering a hug to someone staying at a Simsbury, Connecticut, hotel, I stood outside speaking to the intended recipient on the phone when a man waiting for an Uber introduced himself as Tim and said, "I'll take their hug if they aren't coming."

?

The next thing I knew, Tim and I were embracing, and he shared his story about being nervous about an interview he was going to and needing some good vibes.

There was also the time in Chicago the owner of the Coffee Hip Hop & Mental Health Cafe gave me one of the biggest compliments a brother can get.?

Christopher LeMark established the cafe after suffering a nervous breakdown and getting counseling for the first time.?

He had an epiphany about the benefits of therapy and adopted a mission to make therapy "cool" for Chicago's young black men.

??Now he uses the cafe's profits to stage group therapy sessions for brothers and potentially curb some of the community’s anger and violence.?

His story of turning a low point into a powerful platform and brick-and-mortar business that could help others was inspiring, and he noted that we were doing the same thing.

?“No matter where you go, hugs are just… good, and you are just boldly showing this to the whole world!…. Man, outside of Barack Obama, you may be the coolest brother I’ve ever met,”?

Being looked upon as being on the same level as Barrack was an honor, so I cut him off as he began explaining and said, “Dude, don't say another word; let’s leave it right there!!"

I will never be president, but I did feel semi-famous when a New England hotel manager pointed at me walking through the lobby, squinted his eyes, and excitedly said, “Heyyyyyyyy, I hugged you 12 years ago in New Jersey, and YOU ARE STILL DOING IT!"

It felt good to be remembered, but most were oblivious to who I was like when my hug was "gifted." to someone in Kansas City the day after Christmas.?

Many of my embraces on this tour were outside people's homes, but with the intense cold, I found myself seated at the dining room table of a couple's warm home, asking what they knew of my story.

?

Sitting across from me in full-length pajamas, the woman plainly stated with a bit of a southern accent, "Uhhh, I don't know anything... All I know is that my mother called me to say that a man was coming here to hug me."

There was an apparent nervous tension in this woman's voice as she spoke. But even if I was obtuse to her tone, I couldn't help but notice her husband sitting in the corner of the room, holding onto a heavy-looking coffee mug like a baseball that he was about to hurl at my head if I said the wrong thing.

To ease things, I quipped, "Wow, that is some intro," and only offered an embrace after I shared my story and the husband no longer held the mug like a weapon and mumbled, "beautiful.”

?You were missed when I visited the Mesilla Valley Hospice in Las Cruces, New Mexico.

You remember that place.?

Serving food and hugs to hospice patients was one of the volunteer stops you made with me when I bicycled from San Diego to New York in 2008.?

While addressing their staff about my hugging experiences around the planet, I met a nurse who was working on the day we visited.

"Ohhhhhh, I remember you…we (the staff) talked about you biking all the way here to volunteer for a long time...You were with someone, right, a friend...Where's he??" she said.

"He's dead."

"Oh my…of what??"

"Suicide"?

"Oh my… and y-y-you came back here?'

"Yeah."

She didn't speak afterward because nothing needed to be said, and we just shared a long embrace.?

It had been over 15 years since visiting this facility, but touring it brought back memories and your observation that “we can all learn a lot about life and living from a man who's about to die in a week.”?

It still holds.

??

Sitting with one patient during lunch and chatting about life's simple pleasures: smiles, sunny days, fresh-cut grass, laughter, and other things got me thinking a lot more about the gift of time.?

Our chat must have got them thinking deeper about that gift, too, because while holding my hand, they thanked me for sharing some of my moments with them and then nodded toward a table of someone eating by themselves.

?

“Share some (more) of your time, “ they said.

Faith and family came up quite often on this tour.

Faith in something, not necessarily a specific religion and the family we are born into, as well as the one we choose.?

One of my chosen family members and most layered hug deliveries was to my kid brother, Ram, in Marina del Rey, California.??

Ram isn't a blood relative, but I became his "big brother" in the 90s when he was just a big, energetic 15-year-old with an even bigger personality.?

He reminded me of myself, and because I knew how young men could get into trouble if they didn't have constant supervision and a positive way to expend their energy, I gave him some fundamental orders: Stay close to me in the gym.

?He adhered to my prime directive and shadowed me everywhere throughout the gym, and in between exercise and lifting tips, I interspersed bits of life advice.?

Ram followed me around so much many assumed he was my son, and I never minded that assertion because, even though he could be a typical teenage pest, I intensely believed in his potential and hung in there with him.??

By staying close to me every day instead of hanging out with his near-do-well friends, Ram avoided much of their troubles and credits me for saving his life.

"I am nowhere without you," he once said.

But that was then.

Now, running JFM Boxing in Marina del Rey, we don’t see each other much and only text, but he always calls me on Father’s Day to thank me for being in his life.?

But “cyber” friendships have limitations, and seeing him in his space was surreal.?

In one glance around the gym, I saw it all, the wide-eyed kid who followed me around, the 20-something who knew everything and nothing, and now the grown-ass man.?

?I thought about how the tables had turned and couldn't resist disrupting his sessions like he did mine and yelled for everyone to stop boxing because I wanted to offer them a hug.?

With the gym's rapid-fire pitter-patter of punches and motion dwindling to a stillness, his raised eyebrows and glaring eyes screamed, "YOU DICK!!"?

But his face quickly softened and gave a hearty laugh as it formed a beautiful smile when I yelled, "Payback, motherfucker!"

?Ram is the only person I've met who has touched upon my brother, son, and friend roles.?

?

So as we stood near the middle of the boxing ring, I took the opportunity to peel the layers of respect, admiration, and pride I held for him to deliver one long embrace and say, “I love you, man.”

Long beyond a teenager, hugging this 40-year-old man was like hugging three people at once, thus tripling the effect of his reply, “ I love you too, man.?

His hug and our moment were tour highlights.

Faith and family were also present the day after Thanksgiving when I reunited with a Mennonite family I first met in 2011 on my third bicycle trip across America.

You remember that story.?

I was bicycling through Westby, Wisconsin, and had a family-style fried chicken dinner with a family I met with three young daughters.?

While we were eating, their oldest, maybe nine years old, and I simultaneously reached for the last piece of chicken; she innocently said, "Hey! We both wear glasses and are greedy; WE could be family!"

Her adorable response created a laugh, made a moment, and started a friendship that lasted 11 years despite only meeting that one time.

Our reunion happened at The Daily Brew Cafe in Westby, near where we first met and began with laughs and smiles, but the mood changed when Brian and his wife, Mijuanou, used a very parental tone and said they needed to "talk" to me.

Seated on the "kid's side" of the table with their daughters, I listened to their observations about my faith in humanity, my long hours on the road, taking unnecessary chances on this trip, and checking in with someone every day.

"Dave, I KNOW you can take care of yourself, but I am a mother of four girls, which means I worry all the time, and the fact that you are out there all alone scares me sometimes!"

Genuine care and concern dripped from each word, warming my heart and making me feel appreciated, but I felt like an extension of their family when we recreated one of my favorite pictures from my 22 years of hug travel.

Sitting in the same position we were in 11 years ago, we posed for a picture, with the only exception being that their youngest daughter filled in for her older sister, who was away teaching, and they looked just ALIKE, glasses and all.?

?I love this picture too!?

?In addition to feeling this family's warmth, I benefited from a fraternal vision of me when I met up with my friend Ray at Jo’s Coffee in Austin, Texas.?

Ray has known me for over 40 years, long before the 9/11 attacks, the hugs and high5s, the books, and everything.?

Ray has known me so long he doesn't even call me "Big Dave" and still refers to me by my high school nickname, "Beef."

Ray may not be my family by definition, but he is my family by heart, which made the sight of him holding his newborn son while we recalled old high stories a treasure.

One story that caught Ray's attention was when, after failing a high school Latin test and making jokes about it, my teacher remarked that I could find laughter in any situation, whether I was down by 20 or up by ten.

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Snapping his fingers as if a lightbulb went off in his head, he said, "That (smiles and laughter) was always your superpower, Beef….hugging people around the world is precisely what you were meant to do."

His reflection that I may have found my life's destiny and purpose made me feel incredibly lucky.

But listening to his thoughts on what a simple hug meant to him made me feel something more profound.?

"One, a hug means understanding...Sometimes you don't even need words... The fact that they even hug you means they understand. They may not have any answers. They may not have an answer, but their hugs mean; I understand what you are dealing with is rough. Sometimes a hug just means; I love you. Sometimes I hug my son because I don't have the words to convey all that I feel. Sometimes... as with us going back 40-45 years... sometimes, a hug just says; it's so good to see you. I miss you, and thank you for everything."?

I felt incredibly fortunate.?

Ray left shortly after speaking, and as I was packing up, I paused to think about everything he said but was interrupted by the barista listening to our conversation.?

With teary eyes, the barista said, “I don't know what you are doing, but that whole thing was beautiful."

Seeing the barista's tears and emotion was comforting because it let me know I wasn’t alone in this fortunate experience.

??

?While in Austin, I also reunited with our cycling brother, Brian.

Who would think our adventures would end in Texas, especially after meeting in Cairo and bicycling across Egypt, Sudan, Ethiopia, Kenya, Tanzania, Malawi, Zambia, Namibia, Botswana, South Africa, Turkey, Georgia, Azerbaijan, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, Kyrgyzstan, and China together??

I certainly didn't.??

I didn't know we would spread your ashes then; Brian just walked in and proclaimed, "it's time to say goodbye."

Our farewell ceremony in Brian's backyard was short and sweet but not melancholy.

Holding a shot of tequila along with a picture of the three of us smiling in China, we both said a few words and hugged as we said, "I love you, “brother” to each other, and after a while, your name came up so often that it felt as if you were very much alive but just in another room.?

Seeing Brian was tough, but I was prepared for it because I spent the prior week in Arizona with your brother, Jay, trying to help him through the first holiday season without you.

But spending time with your brother and not having you at the forefront of my mind was challenging because you look alike and sound identical to me.?

Listening to Jay but hearing your voice say, "I miss my best friend," absolutely tore me apart.

Replying, "I am here for you, brother," didn't seem nearly weighty enough, and suddenly I felt compelled to do something more substantive and tangible to help him.

?

It took a day, but an idea hit me when I saw his family's unique Christmas tree decorations; a box of expired ski passes.??

?Jay explained that every year, his family members got ski passes with their pictures on them, and rather than trash them, they put a ribbon through them and turned it into a holiday ornament.

The decorated tree then becomes their family’s time capsule that makes everyone happy, and the next thing you know, I had driven up the mountain and was standing at a ski lodge window, asking a young attendant for a pass, except not for the slopes.

?I just wanted a pass so it could be a decoration.?

The attendant initially looked confused but seemed to understand after I spoke about you, your passing, my tour, and my intentions for this pass.

Cutting me off, he said, “Dude, relax, I want to be a part of this…this is… beautiful. Just look into that camera right there!"?

A few hours later, I was kicking in Jay’s door like I was Biggie Smalls and seeing your brother, sister-in-law, and niece's faces smile as I held up my pass, yelling, "Guess who's part of the family, Bitches??!!!”?

So now I’m on your brother’s tree, but when I reached your sister’s house in Missouri on Christmas Eve, I didn’t think she would care much about having a Big Dave ornament.

I thought this because she has more Christmas decorations than a damned department store.?

She had a wreath on her roof, for god's sake.

But she did care, and while eating with the family, she pulled out one of my new stickers, the yellow one with a big red heart, signed the back of it, and passed it around for her husband and daughters to sign.?

?After singing it, she asked for my signature, covered it with clear tape, put a ribbon through it, and placed it on the tree.?

Then she returned to the dining room table, grabbed my hand, smiled, and said, "you're family now!”?

??

And that's how I became a Christmas tree ornament in your family.

While eating alone at Jack's Steakhouse in Uvalde, Texas, I chatted with a trucker at another table who was intrigued by my travels and asked what made this trip different.

I explained this trip wasn't just me bicycling, driving, or flying from Point A to Point B, like Cairo to Cape Town, Istanbul to Beijing, or Sydney to Melbourne, and happening upon individuals who want hugs or even tallying up my embraces.

Speaking over the din of the loud restaurant, I exclaimed, "THIS TRIP is much more emotional," and defined it as a person-specific journey where I ventured directly to those who needed an embrace and then sat with them for an average of 90 minutes to have soul-bearing conversations that weren't often pretty.

But it was okay.

This journey was my first designed hug delivery trip, but one thing I learned in my 20-plus years of embracing the world was that if you could quickly assure people that you were willing to listen to them, not judge them, hug them, AND leave town in a few hours: THEY WILL OPEN UP TO YOU.

It is a LOT to do in just a few moments, but I am living proof that it can be done.

One Montana woman began chatting with me about one of her friends who recently passed away but quickly switched gears to open up about their sibling's death years ago.?

Then, tightly clutching my hand as she sobbed, she sniffled, “You make it SOO EASY to grieve… How good for those you meet, but this has to be (sniffle -sniffle) awful for you!”

Upon hearing this, the trucker said, "WOW!!"

The tour was challenging, but I told the trucker I volunteered to be a repository for people’s pain and viewed it as a successful effort because I found an accord with every person I encountered where we could wipe our tears, hug, smile, and smile and feel a bit of hope.

By the time I had driven from Philadelphia to Texas, I had embraced a mother who lost a child in the Uvalde shooting, a father who lost a child in the Sandy Hook shooting, three terminally ill people, multiple people with severe PTSD, and too many people who were sexually assaulted.

I also spoke about a woman who had been physically abused for over 20 years and was so thankful for my even creating this tour that she wept in my arms and repeated, "You're real! You're real!! You are really going around and just helping people smile."

At this point of conversation, the trucker figured I was providing dinner theater for him, so he had moved his plate, flatware, and beer to my table and, now chewing with an open mouth in my face, asked for some of the tour's lighter moments.

I began by telling him my daily stops on the roadside to stand and take in this nation's beautiful landscape, regardless of the weather.

Sometimes I stood in the rain and smiled at the view, like at Mt Hood in Oregon and the prairie of North Dakota.

There were more than a few times when thoughts of you made me pull over to the side of the road to get out of the car to cry for a while, like when I entered Bend, Oregon, or even let out a long scream of frustration like when I was at the South Dakota-Wyoming border.

And you know, I HAD to pull over at the Fat-Ass Winery - just because.

?But most times, I pulled over to walk around and think about the people I was meeting and how fortunate I was to be able to facilitate some happiness.

But I knew he wanted to hear about the people I encountered, so I described the huge smile of the boy I hugged in San Francisco shortly after he got his first bicycle.

I spoke about feeling the glee in the air at a Hug Party I staged at a Belle Fourche, South Dakota, senior center.

“You haven’t lived until you’ve had a bunch of 80-year-olds with canes and walkers chasing you down for a hug,” I said with a smile.?

?

I called these moments "unexpected gems" and talked about a precious one I received at Caribou Coffee in Mandan, North Dakota.?

?

Seated at a long community table, I began chatting with a young single mother and her two sons, approximately seven and four years old, when they sat down.

Over my usual iced coffee and oatmeal, I listened to her triumphant story of being abandoned by her "baby-daddy” and then turning her life around to become a successful businesswoman.

Stories like hers always engage and motivate me and prompt me to share many of my embracing stories.

That is when her youngest son made this a memorable moment.

Scampering from his mother’s lap over to mine, he attempted to wrap his tiny arms around me and said, "I love you, Hug Man."

“That IS a gem,” the trucker said.?

??

It felt good to get all of this off my chest, and after speaking, the trucker stared at me blankly for a few moments and exclaimed, “God damn, man, you went and ventured into the eye of one emotional hurricane after another."?

"I don't know if I necessarily see it that way'" I replied.?

?“Shit, I don't know any other way to look at it," the trucker retorted.

That was an intense view of my actions, but maybe it was true because my toughest embrace was in Kansas City to your father, Butch.?

Due to health reasons, Butch couldn’t attend your memorial, so the last time we saw each other was four years ago at your annual crawfish boil.

So much had changed in that time.

Now in a wheelchair and saddled with health concerns, Butch perked up when I walked in and yelled, "There he is, my big black son!!”

He called me this because I wrote a letter after your memorial, telling him that since I looked at you like a brother, he should consider me his new big black son.?

Chatting with him was good, but after a while, Butch looked downward and seemingly checked out of the conversation.

Then, with elbows on the armrest and his hands folded, he lifted his head to say, "Dave, I didn't respond to your letter because that was one of the most beautiful things I've read and because it was written TO ME about MY SON….”

?His voice trailed off.?

“…that was just beautiful,” he continued.

No tears had fallen yet, but as Butch's lip began to tremble and his eyes started to glisten, I knew it was a matter of time.

Then It happened.

"I miss him; I miss my son,” Butch wailed.?

I wanted to stand up and share an embrace, but each tear Butch wept seemed to shrink him more and more to where I would have loomed over him. So I remained seated “beneath” him and motioned for him to roll his chair toward me.

Cautious of hitting me, he moved his electric wheelchair only a few inches toward me.?

But I wanted to be closer.

No, I NEEDED to be closer so we could cry together, so I leaned for his control and brought his chair up to my feet.?

Butch may have been this tour’s most emotional delivery, but the youngest and most subtly profound hug deliveries occurred in Bend, Oregon.

There, I met Derek, 7, and Sarah, 4; the children of some friends I delivered hugs to.

The family was so excited to be a part of my tour they asked me to stay the night and have a pizza dinner with them.?

While sharing a few funny hug stories with the family, Derek stood up from the table and walked away.

Assuming he was getting some soda or something, I kept talking until he stood next to me with a handwritten note that said: Thank you for coming, Big Dave.?

His lovely note stopped me in mid-chew, and before I could react, Derek leaped on me with all the unbridled energy a 7-year-old can muster to give me a breathtaking hug and sat back down to happily munch on his slice.?

The note had me grinning through the remaining dinner and dessert, but afterward, it was bedtime, and since I was staying in Sarah's room, she felt it necessary to give me a full rundown of her room.??

Holding onto Sarah’s hand with one hand and her brother’s note in the other, I listened as my tiny tour guide pointed to all of her toys, games, book and a butterfly mobile on her ceiling.

It was a surprisingly thorough tour, but when I asked about a giant orange crystal on her nightstand, she got a more serious tone and replied, "Ohhhhhhhh, It's a night-wight."?

Playing around with her, I repeated her words, "A night-wight??"?

Nodding her head, Sarah said, “Yes, a night-wight," and began explaining how it worked by turning it on.

She must have noticed my facial expression because she exclaimed, "I KNOW it's 'bwight,' but if you get 'bwaver' in the night, you can turn it down here," and turned the dimmer switch.

With that, Sarah hugged my leg, shook my hand again, and pranced off, saying, "G'night!"?

Weary from a long day's drive, I plopped down, placed my “thank you” note on the nightstand, and began thinking about things.

Days before you took your life, I encouraged young adults to show gratitude boldly.

“Show it in real-time, “ I said

“If expressing your appreciation is weird, then let it be weird for the other guy hearing it - not for you in sharing it!!”

I spoke of the things that took me years and some losses to learn and live by, and here was a 7-year-old taking a break from eating pizza to write an appreciative note with excellent penmanship.

This note, this free and pure display of gratitude, was a gift that got me thinking about the things I am thankful for in my life:

• My ability to smile and willingness to share it with others.
• My family and friends.
• My driving skills - I've driven over 80,000 miles through this country on my many hug trips and NOT ONE ACCIDENT!!
• My parking Karma; Dude, can you believe on this tour, I found close, safe, and FREE parking in Bend, Boston, Chicago, Los Angeles, Philadelphia, and San Francisco??!

I also thought of bravery.

Excuse me; I mean "bwavery."

“One has to be scared before being brave” is a saying, and there was no denying it: I was a lot more anxious and scared about everything than I was letting on.

You are the first person I knew to commit suicide, and though everyone says it, you were the last person I expected to do it, and it scares me.

What did I miss in you?

And more importantly, what emotional struggles could I be missing in others around me right now??

I briefly tried putting myself in your head to make sense of your final actions but knew it was futile, so I didn't overthink it and just wept on the edge of a tiny bed.

We are all scared of something, Scott.

I’m scared.

You even touched on my fears when talking about me hugging the world and said, “It’s simple, but it’s not easy.”

The simplicity of a hug greatly enthuses me, and I have seen what it can do for others.

Still, the practicalities of it all stress me so much that I wake up some nights panicked that I’ve wasted all of my life savings, time, and so much opportunity on achieving a vision of a happier world that only I can see.

But my embracing experience has conditioned me to slow down during these “not easy” times and trust and search for the forces and sources of wisdom that can help me through life’s rough patches.

There’s wisdom all around us, and I wish you would have called me because we could have discussed this.

Because sometimes, the source of wisdom and healing is holding your hand and instructing you to stare at a nightlight.

Sarah was right.

Basking in the "night-wight's" warming glow and allowing the butterflies above my head to do their magic eventually comforted me and made me feel "bwaver" for the next day's hug delivery.??

The nightlight’s glow was so comforting that I got one when I got home.

Who would have thought my big old ass would be sleeping with a nightlight??

It’s funny to me too, brother.

?

So after setting out on November 14, 2022, and driving over 12,000 miles to deliver hugs, high5s, and good vibes throughout the country, my tour's final hug delivery was on December 31, where this letter began, in Reading, PA, at Alvernia University.??

Once there, I finally exhaled, relaxed, and reflected upon everything that’s happened the last few months and made a video about some of the good luck charms I have collected on my travels and now take with me on my journeys.??

From an outsider's view, the cigar box-sized tin is a portable junk drawer full of random stuff; a yarmulke, some prayer beads, a police patch, etc.

But nothing in it is random or junk.

The yarmulke was given to me in Jerusalem in 2019 by a stranger who asked me to pray with him.?

Strangers sent the Buddhist prayer beads to me in 2006 after my car accident.?

On my Big Dave Hugs America Tour in 2017, an officer gave me a Baltimore PD patch after sharing an embrace.

The warship medallions were given to me in 2020 by Woody Williams, a 97-year-old Medal of Honor recipient, who said I was the “warrior the world needs.”

This tin is brimming with items, beautifully gift-wrapped in stories I've lived, and I go through its contents on each trip to remember again, feel more, and remain pointed in the right direction.

This tin is priceless to me.

And now you are a part of it.?

?

Your brother gave me some of your ashes, so you are now a vital part of the tapestry of experiences I’ll share with others to make the world happier.?

You are with me.

When we were bicycling from Istanbul to Beijing and in Kyrgyzstan at an extremely high altitude, you cut me off while telling a funny story and breathlessly asked if I ever “shut the fuck up?”

Well, you will find out as you accompany me on every hug trip I take.

The answer is “No," by the way.

You are also with me as I continue to ponder that simple yet complex question: What now?

What now, Scott?

If you were here now, I would ask you this, and knowing you, you'd probably be a smart-ass and respond, "What now, motherfucker?!”

And to this, I would say, "I don’t know, Scott, I really don’t, but I love you and think if we go hug some people, we’ll feel a lot better and “bwaver” and figure something out. So take my hand...Please”?

So until we meet again, walk in beauty, brother.

Dave