Hands. Aren’t they wonderful things? One day in the life of a pair of hands is action-packed to say the least. Cracking knuckles. A broken nail. Petting the dog. Petting the dog again. Starting the car. Scratching your elbow.. or the cat. Cleaning up a spill. Wiping away a tear. Waving “thank you” to the driver who let you easily merge into traffic. Turning a door knob.
I kind of have a thing for hands. Nice hands on a man? Yowsa… My husband has nice hands. They are tanned and strong. They make music. They clean dishes. They fit mine perfectly. They are attached to a wonderful man.
I have always loved holding hands. Hands of my daughters when they were little, as we walked. Or crossed the street. Or let one dance and swing in the air between us as hubby and I walked through a mall or down the sidewalk. I always loved the way they would automatically grab for my hand as we neared a road to cross. Or even just to hold my hand as we made our way to school or the playground. I love those memories. I love those tiny fingers in mine. They aren’t so tiny anymore, and it’s rare that they reach for mine. Always on the go, at a good fast pace – not conducive to hand holding. Different directions. Not home at the same time. Not out at the same time together. So many reasons to not hold hands.
Today I especially feel the need for hand-holding. A touch can say so much. Sometimes words aren’t easy to find. Sometimes the words don’t want to be heard – so they should not be uttered.
Tiny hands and tender hearts grow up to be attached to quasi-adults with their own paths. Sometimes we want to pull them back from the path… but usually they need to go so they can see what’s there for themselves. I hate that part, but I shouldn’t because they are where they are for a reason. Letting go of those little hands is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Sometimes I’m not quite sure I have let go, until I notice my hand is empty of another hand.
I will always be available to hold your hand. I will always be grateful for the tiny hands that changed me, made me a mother, taught me compassion in a way I could never have understood otherwise. Taught me fierce protection, and fear of the unknown. The fear that something would hurt the owners of those tiny hands. Silently morphed me into Mama Bear.
They say that having a child is to forevermore have your heart go walking around outside your body.
Look, Mom. No hands. ❤