Hold My Hand

As we crossed the street to get to the van, Ethan grabbed my hand.  It was second nature for him.  He always holds my hand to cross the street.  We trained him to do that at an early age and he hasn't thought to stop doing it yet (and I will not be the one to let him know he doesn't have to anymore... because he does).

Suddenly I was flooded with emotion because at that moment I realized that one day he wouldn't do that anymore.  One day he will become independent and stop holding my hand to cross the street.  One day he will ride his bike in the neighborhood without me there.  One day he will move out of the house (well, down the street) and live on his own (okay Destiny, baby steps, don't overwhelm yourself).  I squeezed his hand tight and tried to take in the moment.  I looked at him and held his hand, and my heart was full.

I thought of my other two and how they still hold my hand as well.  Ally wraps her little hand around one of my fingers.  I love it.  I love her smallness.

When we got in the car, I started thinking of the time when Andy and I first met.  We met over the phone (he was my admissions counselor for college) and we developed a friendship before we even met.  We only hung out on two occasions before making the leap to dating.  When I finally moved to the college he attended, I felt like I knew him so well but we hadn't really hung out.  I felt awkward around him and yet we were dating.  I was afraid if he saw the goofy, dorky side of me he would think he made a mistake.  I remember being kinda quiet for the first few days.  He kept asking me what was wrong and I assured him it was nothing.  But soon I could no longer hold it in.  We were coming back from dinner and he was walking me back to the dorm.  He asked me again what was wrong and I finally let it all out.  I told him I felt like I wasn't being myself and a whole bunch of other babbling nonsense that I can't remember.  I was shaking because I was still so nervous around this dream guy I was so afraid of losing. He listened carefully to everything I had to say.  His eyes never wavered but remained locked into mine. At the end of my sonnet, he smiled and gently took both my hands.  I'll never forget that feeling.  With one gesture, my fears and trepidation were gone.  There was a sense of security.  He said something like, "Everything is gonna be okay," or other nonsense that I don't remember now.  But the power of touch, the gesture of taking my hands, that I will remember forever.