I Want to Hold Your Hand

It's cold and flu season. According to the experts, the best way to protect yourself is constant hand-washing, get a flu shot and avoid hand-to-hand contact. I'm about as likely to do that as I am to sell a kidney on eBay.

Holding hands gives me comfort. It makes me feel loved and safe.

I've had doctor's appointments that frightened me. My mother or Mickey held my hand. I've had biopsies and minor surgeries. My parents or Big Sal held my hand. When I put my old dog to sleep, Abby held my hand. When Pam's daughter and the baby both headed off for college, we shared some laughs and tears. We held hands and walked down memory lane. I've been to funerals and memorials where I held hands with lots of people. It's comforting and I need it.

Cynthia has let me weep uncontrollably. She reaches for my hand.

Jan used to grab my hand in public. She knew I was horrified so she found this very funny. Today, I would find it an honor. She's held my hand through an awful lot of things in my life.

When the baby was little, we would kneel and say our prayers. I put my hands over his during this ritual. When we say grace in our home, we hold hands. When the husband and I go for a walk, we hold hands. Sometimes I watch my parents meander into a restaurant or some other function. They still hold hands. When I go to church with my parents, I hold their hands.

If I'm sharing a memory or a laugh with you, I will probably hold your hand. In some ways, it's complete intimacy. It's raw, honest and vulnerable. It says, "I trust you. I need you. Let's help each other."

Lots of other people have held my hand or let me reach for theirs. I remember. I'm going to get my flu shot tomorrow. But I won't stop holding hands.