When Did We Stop Holding Hands?

When did we stop holding hands?

Lately, we’ve been at odds so much, that there are days I wonder if we even made eye contact all day, let alone touched. “It’s the age, it’s a stage, it’s a roller-coaster,” I’m told, and as much as I know that, I miss you. So tonight driving home, I reached over and put my hand on your knee and reached for your hand, and you let me hold it in my own, just for a few seconds. It felt familiar, but a little foreign, and so it got me to thinking...when did we stop holding hands?

I’ll bet one of the first, and most oft repeated commands you ever heard from me, from the time you could comprehend it was, “Take my hand!”, or “Here sweetie, hold mommy’s hand!” And for as many times as I made that request, you quickly complied, nearly every time, without question or argument or considering if you should or not. You just did. You held your mommy’s hand. Stepping out of the car, crossing the street, walking into a store, it was the natural thing to do and there was never a question of why. Mommy’s hand meant guidance, safety and protection. And other times, it just meant reassurance, for you to slip your little baby girl sweet dimpled hand in my own meant, “Mommy’s still here.”

So when did we stop holding hands? I wish I had known it would be the last time, so I could have made certain we were doing some extra special, like walking home from the park, or a nice long walk on a late autumn afternoon, pointing out the colors in the leaves as we walked. I wish it had been a day that sparkled with promise and remembrance and color, full of sunlight and laughter. But I’ll bet it was something much more ordinary than that. I’ll bet the last time you held my hand, we were running late, or walking quickly from school, or to an appointment, with my voice insistently urging you, “Take my hand!” I’ll bet it was just a regular day with not enough time, and too many things occupying my thoughts. Oh, how I wish someone had stopped me and said, “Wait! Stop! Remember this moment and bottle it up! You don’t get this moment back.”

It’s funny as a parent, we remember all the firsts - first words, first steps, first day of school - but how many lasts do we remember? I mean, when was the last time I tied your shoes for you? Zipped up your coat? Washed your hair? I truly can’t recall. Just suddenly, one day you were doing it all by yourself. They weren’t banner days, there was no recording the date in a baby book, no pictures to mark the occasion. These lasts just came and went and drifted into our daily routine, as though they had always been. And now here you are, half child, half woman, curling your hair, applying makeup and taking care of yourself so independently that I feel like I want to stop time, hit rewind and go back and grab onto each one of those lasts and not let them go. Oh, how I wish I had treasured so much more, the weight of you in my arms, your head on my shoulder, your hand in mine before those common, everyday things slipped into the land of the lasts.

There will be more - we are not done with the lasts, and the biggest lasts are going to be the hardest on your dear old momma’s heart. The last time I drive you to school, the last time I tuck you into bed, the last time we share an address. Yes these lasts are coming and I want to hold on to every precious moment while they’re still here.

So please, when I reach for your hand, or stroke your hair back from your eyes, or gather you up in my arms, please just have some patience with your Mom. I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to look back and wonder when all the firsts disappeared into the lasts. I’ve just got a few more years to hold on to you, while I still can, before you go create a life of your very own firsts.