Englewood, Colorado. I’m at the hugging-the-parents-around-the-legs stage of life. Dad and I are Christmas shopping. I can only hold two of his fingers, my hands are so tiny.
Lincoln, Nebraska, eighth grade science field trip, sitting in a planetarium watching the show with Rex Bennett whom I’ve known since fifth grade. My first romantic hand-holding. “I think he likes me!”
At the Roxy Theater in Bellevue, Nebraska, my brother and I are there for A Hard Day’s Night. The small-town theater is packed with teenagers. I’m 14. The kid next to me reaches for my hand during the movie and we hold hands all the way through. I don’t even know him. A little voice tells me it’s wrong to hold a strange boy’s hand, but I don’t let go.
My dad’s in a coma. I am doing homework (reading, English major, you know). I feel a movement, a slight squeeze on my hand. I look up at him to see he’s come out of the coma and is looking at me with all the love in the universe. We stay like that for a while, savoring the moment and the envelope of love. I notice his IV needle has come out. I call the nurse. ❤ ❤
My niece, two years old, a little girl I barely know. We’re playing in a park near my brother’s house. She tells me there is a bear in the pine trees at the end of the park. I ask “Where?” and while she points, I get on all fours and roar. She puts her hand on my back. I walk on four “legs” on the grass for a while, Andrea’s hand on my back much the way I place my hand on Bear’s when we walk. Ultimately I have to stand up. Andrea reaches for my hand and we walk home. I love her so much. ❤
Arches National Monument. Francesco and I run across the slick rock to a look out from which we can see the Delicate Arch. The road below is closed and this is the only way. It’s almost dark. We can’t stop. We have a mile to go. We hold hands to keep each other near, safe, and on the trail. ❤
I am walking to my car after a day teaching at San Diego State. As I cross the bridge that goes over the highway to the parking lot, I am approached by a dad and his tiny, red-haired girl. She looks up at me. I look down at her. She lets go of her dad and puts her hand in mine. Dad laughs. “I guess she wants to go home with you!” My hair is also red.
I hold my mom’s hand in the hospital about a month before she dies. It’s sweet even though she thinks I am someone else.
My Aunt Martha is in the nursing home. She’s telling me the story of her adult life, how she’d made her decisions and why. “I love you, Martha Ann.” “I love you too, Aunt Martha.” ❤
Sometimes the weird little eventualities of growing older are painful — not physically but psychologically. On our recent exploration of the town of Del Norte, my friend has one of those moments of embarrassment, confusion and regret. In her usual gentle way, she confides her feelings. I take her hand. She squeezes mine. I say, “It doesn’t matter.”
I’m watching a movie on my lap top, sitting on my sofa. My big white dog comes in from outside, jumps up onto the sofa, and puts her big paw on my leg. I put my hand on her paw. ❤
And now a stupid but appropriate song…
https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2020/03/19/ragtag-daily-prompt-thursday-hold-my-hand/
This is lovely.
Thank you. ❤
Wonderful hand-holding memories — a simple but eloquent expression of love!
It’s a sweet gesture. 🙂
So much of life and love is about just holding hands. Or paws, as the case may be. We don’t do enough of that these days.
Well, we can’t. 😉 Holding paws, though, that’s still good.
Thank you for sharing your memories x
The human touch. When we are little. When we are grown. Your memories and stories put it all into words. Wonderful! 🙂
Thank you ❤
You’re welcome 😊
Oh, Martha…..what a heart warmer. The little girl with the red hair…. ❤ And, of course, Bear.
I’d had a horrible day and that little girl fixed it completely. ❤
Wonderful memories Martha 🙂 I am so glad that someone put in this song. I would have been bereft if some didn’t add a great song to their post
I’m happy you like it. It’s definitely a song from a moment in time. 🙂
Smashing post! You even got me a little misty eyed. I remember that Beatles song – the first one I’d ever heard and it was sung to me on the playground in 1st grade….
I heard it in sixth grade — and we had a new kid at our school, a kid from actual real live England!!! :O
Love this post!
❤
Oh my, the moment with your father, his look of love for you. I had a similar moment with my father. A treasured moment. Much love, Martha ❤
Much love to you too, Rebecca. ❤
You are making us all cry, Martha. An Aussie, not used to expressing such emotional intensity would respond with black humour, saying, “I saw my life flashing before my eyes.”
❤
So would I. But I might write it. 😀
Heehee.
So sweet…will melt any heart.
❤
Thank you Martha. Reading your blog and listening to Keith Olberman read James Thurber on his Twitter page have been kept me grounded during this plague.
Sent from my iPad
❤ Thank you Steve. Writing it is helping me stay grounded.