Simply, a Hand

Sometimes the smallest, inconsequential act – done without any thought or plan – can bring forth  many memories. 

I want to share some of the thoughts brought to mind by the unconscious act that occurred as Jack and I were crossing over Third Avenue heading to my appointment at MSKCC on Monday for my monthly check up.

I guess I was dawdling along as has become my habit lately – although yoga has put a little pep in my dawd. Apparently, not enough for Jack as he reached back and grabbed my hand to get me to move a little quicker than the oncoming cabs. For some reason, we continued to keep our hands linked as we walked along the crowded sidewalk and around the corner to the entrance.

Jack walked me to the entrance then headed off to visit his eye doctor several blocks uptown. We managed to coordinate our appointments in the big city this time! I checked in and had a few minutes to contemplate what had just occurred.

I realized that the hand I had been holding was no longer smooth and soft. Rather it was rough and callused, knarled with arthritis, but felt ever so much stronger than the hand of that young man who held my hand through both childbirth labors and deliveries.

It was less tender than the hand that held mine while we waited too many hours for news during Kate’s back surgery.  This is the hand that smoothed her dry, itchy skin with cream while she lay connected to machines because he did not know what else to do for this beloved child.

This hand held the trusting hands of his beloved daughters as they climbed rocks at the beach; jumped waves in the Atlantic;  explored glaciers in Alaska and the greatest museums of the world.

This is the hand that clenched and unclenched as he taught his girls to drive. This is the hand that waved good bye as they headed off to college. And this same hand brushed away a tear as he prepared to walk his first born treasure down the aisle.

This is the hand that hides lollipops and chocolate in his pocket for Agnes Rose and will do the same for Bernadette when the time is right.

This is the hand that has known hard work and sacrifice.  This is the hand that could stop traffic and a gentle hand that could deliver a breach birth baby on a kitchen floor.

This is the hand that patted my back when I told him I was ill. This is the hand that has held the steering wheel and driven me to every single doctor’s appointment and test for the past three and a half years.

This hand has toughened over the years through the good, the bad, the happy and the sad. This hand has never been raised in anger or threat.

This hand has remained a steadfast rock.

I’m happy my hand still fits into it.