As I started to write this post, so many of those "hands on" times in my life came back to me. Rather than try to work them into some form of a cohesive story, which I just don’t believe is possible, I decided to list a few.
|Craig, the oldest and me,|
the baby of the family.
- When I got one of my frequent headaches/migraines, Mom would place a cool washcloth over my eyes and lightly run her hands through my hair and over my scalp. Her fingertips worked magic to ease the pain.
- When my oldest brother Craig was leaving for the service, we all went to the airport to see him off. At that time you could actually go to the gate and wait for them to board. Although my mom and dad were there and my other brothers and sisters, I selfishly held on and wouldn’t let anyone else hold his hand. Had he not come back to us, I probably would feel terribly guilty about that today.
- Abram and I held hands as we walked around his first PRIDE event ever. It was one of the most intense parenting experiences I’ve ever felt.
- Having my dad place my hands in Steven’s when we reached the alter and then Steven placing the thin gold my wedding band on my finger. 29 years and counting and I’ve never taken it off.
- The first time after I joined our church as an adult and I shook the hands of those around me, sharing “Peace be with you” - “And also with you”
- Holding my mother’s hand in the hospital bed as she lay dying, and then, just ten months later, holding my father’s as he passed as well.
- Guiding my mom for the last three years of her life whenever I walked next to her because her right peripheral vision was gone due to her traumatic brain injury.
|One of my favorites, a Morgan hand-holding chain...|