Hand in Hand

Can you remember the last time you held someone’s hand? I can remember when hand holding was such a remarkable achievement in a relationship. To a younger me, there was a time when hand holding was peak intimacy and as thrilling as anything I had ever experienced. As with all things, years passed by, life progressed and it became an activity that I appreciated less and less, and that is a shame.

Today marks the third anniversary of the last time I held my sweet girl’s hand.

Around mid-morning, Emily was no longer able to speak or move. Her body had diverted all her remaining energy into one activity—keep breathing. By definition, she was unresponsive, but you could clearly see that she was with us. You could feel the life in her eyes. You could feel her frustration in not being able to respond. You could feel her will in each labored breath. And you could feel the imminence. Today was the day that was not ever supposed to come.

As the day wore on and her breaths became increasingly separated from each other, I sat frozen. For three and half years I did everything in my power to try to make this moment never arrive. And all of my failings were distilled in those moments into pure, concentrated, utter helplessness. I was paralyzed.

And then, as she did in every aspect of her life, Emily did what she could do like no one else. She lent a hand.

As I stared blankly, lost in my inability to stop the inevitable, she saved me. As in so many instances in my life, when I was broken, she fixed me. Slowly, her arm began to bend at the elbow and she lifted her hand up in front of my face. As my eyes caught view of it I careened back to earth. Back by her side. Back in our last moment together. Back where I was supposed to be: holding her hand.

After she left us, we remained surrounding her. I’m not sure if it was minutes or hours that passed from then, but I remember Emily’s dad (Da) reaching down to hold her other hand and in his soft-spoken voice saying, “She really had the most beautiful hands.”

Yes, sir.