The Hands We Hold

     

         More often than not the hands that holds ours as we grow end up being the hands we hold as our loved ones age into the afterlife (if we are lucky).  There is a profound feeling when one returns as an adult to hold one of those hands that has guided us through life.  If you're paying attention the significance of it can hardly be contained in words.
        Today is the first Mother's Day I've been home for in 5 years.  I had the joy of spending it with my Mother and my soon to be 95 year-old Grandmother.  I knelt next to my Grandma for a few family photos.  After the photos had been taken and the rest had dispersed back to their places in the living room, I remained stationary next to my Grandmother.  She rested her head upon my shoulder as I stroked her arm.  I stayed there for a while soaking in the moment; paying attention to little details.  Her body was warm as our shoulder were resting on each others.  I noticed that we were off sync on breathing and I adjusted my breathing to fit hers.  I guess I just wanted to take a moment to breathe with her.  I'm sure there has been many moments in my younger years as I sat next to her that we breathed together but I can't remember one specific time.  I wanted to remember this one.
          I put my hand over hers, noticing the differences and imagining how my hands might look at 95.  I wonder if they will look like hers.  The hand that I held hers with carried a beloved token of love that belonged to her.  My Grandmother gave me her wedding ring a year and a half ago.  It holds the diamonds from her first marriage (my Grandpa Robinson) and the diamond from her second (my Papa).  Papa passed away several years ago.  She was deeply committed to him and wore his ring for many years after he passed.  The honor and bewilderment I have felt over the giving of the ring has coated our relationship since then.  I never asked why she chose me out of all her grandaughters but I sure am grateful she did.  
          It was a very special moment for me to see my hand holding hers with her wedding ring covering us both.  Grandma didn't want to wait to give it to me after she passed.  She wanted to give it to me personally.  I guess it doesn't matter how old you are or what the dynamics of your relationship with your mother or grandmother have been.  At the end of the day we are all children and have come from somewhere.  Sitting next to where I came from, breathing with her, feeling her warmth against mine, I felt a deep love and history that is irreplaceable.  In that moment I could have been anywhere in the world and as long has her head was on my shoulder, I was home.