Holding Hands

 First the newborn finger clutch, then the cherubic, sticky toddler hands reaching out to mine for balance; the clammy little first day of school hand reluctantly letting go of mine at the school gate.  1, 2, 3 hand squeezes signalled a secret “I love you” message. The excited hand grip used to get my attention when pointing something out, and the stealthy teenage hand that would sneak into mine for reassurance and then drop it like it was hot if anyone saw. 

Those precious moments, so frequent when you were little, and now rare, as you have found your equilibrium, confidence and self-assurance are as beautiful as they ever were. Occasionally it’s a young woman’s hand unexpectedly slipping into mine on a walk because you’re feeling happy, or a large man’s hand reaching for mine to help me aboard, your precious hands, my children may seldom hold mine anymore, but they’ll hold my heart forever