We had a fun dinner last night with good friends. Among them were some exceptionally adorable and well behaved little people (seriously, these parents are doing something right). After all the hugs goodbye Tom and I climbed into our car and as the rest of our group turned to walk away one of the littles turned back to us, his hand firmly held by his sweet Grammie, and waved goodbye. While the wave was lovely, it was the image of his little hand safely inside his Grammie's that made my heart happy. It seems like such a small thing when that little hand reaches up for yours, but it is in fact huge. The trust and love that passes between those palms and fingers is what life is all about.
Tom and I hold hands all the time. After all these years it has become a natural part of being together. We get out of the car, close our doors and meet again as our hands clasp together. We hold hands at the movies, whenever we walk together, even sometimes in the night one of us will reach out for a quick hand touch. Neither of us really even think about it, we just connect and every time we do I smile. I love seeing people holding hands, especially older couples. It's such a simple way to say, "I'm glad you're there."
This picture was taken at Kysa's wedding. I remember this so vividly; the feel of my mother's hand in mine. It was cool and soft and comforting on such an emotional day. I don't remember holding her hand again before she passed, though I think I must have. I'm grateful for the memory this picture brings to life.
There is so much power in simple human touch and I wonder if we take it for granted. From a simple handshake to the frazzled mother just trying to get her sweetlings safely across a street, there is a message each time we touch. In this world that continues to offer up daily reports of hate and pain, I'm going to try and be more mindful of the times my hands touch people and the message they give. Let it be one of love. There can never be enough of that.