by Leslie Yasner
I can remember how wonderfully secure I always felt when my grandmother held my hand. I felt invincible. I knew that nothing could ever hurt me as long as she was by my side.
On my first day of school I screamed like a banshee when my mother let go of my hand and turned to leave the classroom. I felt so alone and vulnerable.
Because I could not see well, I always felt so protected when someone would hold my hand. I knew for a fact that I would not get lost.
As I got older, hand holding took on a very different meaning. When my date held my hand I always felt a strong connection. I felt as if, for just that moment, the two of us were one.
I remember when my mom was dying in the hospital how very important it was for me to take her hand as soon as I entered her room. We could be there for hours and neither one of us could let go. It seemed as if the very act of hand holding could prolong her life on earth.
And when I go to funerals, I always like it when someone takes my hand. I feel so protected from any evil forces that may try to harm me. It also takes away some of the extreme sadness of the moment.
I am glad I have two hands, because whenever I’m walking with children I can extend a hand to each of them. That way they know that they are equally loved.
I wonder what it will be like for me to be in my grave. Whose hand would reach out to me, to comfort me, to make me feel safe?
