HOLDING HANDS

I love holding hands. It hasn’t always been that way. When I was little, I remember my mom or dad holding my hand when we were out shopping. I think that it really became annoying to me when I reached my preteen and teen years and my mom still reached for my hand as we crossed a street. I remember thinking, “I’m not a baby, I can cross the street by myself. I don’t need to have my mom hold my hand.”

Last week we took mom to church. We got out of car and began to walk toward the church. Mom’s Alzheimer has advanced to the point that she occasionally feels a little unsteady. As we started toward the church, I reached for her hand. I love holding my mom’s hand. I hold her hand not because I have to, but because I can’t imagine not taking advantage of the opportunity to hold on tight to this woman as long as I can.

I was taking a walk tonight with my granddaughter. It was almost dark. We were walking down the road and she ran up beside me. She reached up and slipped her hand in mine. I gently held her hand. She squeezed mine hard. Then she said, “No, Nana. Hold my hand like this.” She squeezed hard again and continued to the keep pressure tight. I tightened my grip and she said, “Yeah, Nana just like that. Hold it tight, just like that, so that I can feel it.”

“Lord, today was a hard day. There are dark scary things, like watching the mom I know and love fade a little more each day. How can I help my dad deal with the emotional loss of his life partner, and the physical and mental exhaustion that Alzheimer’s caregivers face? Can I keep up with the demands of work? Am I showing my husband that he truly is the love of my life? Am I there for, and being a good mom for, my son and daughters, and loving on my grandbabies in a way that will leave a legacy of love? Lord, when I look around, it seems like it’s getting darker. Please hold my hand, hold it tight so that I can feel it. Thank you, Lord.”