Unsaid

Hands

Your hand used to be small. I could envelope it in my own, twisting my fingers around your smooth skin. I could feel your heart beat drumming along smooth and steady. Your thin nails were sharp against the tough skin of my palm. I wanted to hold your hand that way forever.
I often did.
When you were in my arms, I would hold your hands securely in my own. I'd run my thumb over them, soothing myself just as much as you. It was a comfort for us both.
I still remember the first time you grabbed my hand.
Your small fingers reached up and wrapped around my pointer finger, pulling it in close to your chest. You looked up at me with big, warm eyes.
I knew you were my daughter.
When you were two, you held my fingers on both of my hands as you used them for balance. Walking was no easy feat, but you were determined none the less. You waddled, one step after the other. I couldn't help but smile as you gained the courage to let go and continue the steps on your own. You'd started to become so independent. You were becoming your own person.But that didn't mean you stopped holding my hand.
In fact, after you turned five you held my hand almost every where we went. To the grocery store, to the park, across the street. On the first day of kindergarten, you could hardly bare to let go. You clung on with all of your might, shaking your head in defiance. I miss the days when you never wanted to leave me. Eventually, the teacher came along and pried your hand from mine. Ever since that moment, holding hands hasn't been quite the same.
At seven years old, you got your first splinter. It had buried itself in the rip of your pinky. You showed me in tears, offering your hand out towards me. Your screams were horrible as I worked to grab the splinter between my metal tweezers. Your hand yanked and jerked in my firm grasp, fighting to get free. But I wouldn't let go. I'll never let go.
Ten years old was the year of living room dances. You would place record on to start the music. We would sing and laugh to the tunes, our moves silly and playful. The final dance would always be a slow one. You'd grab my hand and pull me to the middle of the floor. Your small arms would reach around me and hold me tight. We'd sway until the record spun into silence.
When you were thirteen, I squeezed your right hand as you laid in your hospital bed. The other arm was secure in a blue cast. You rambled on about how your friends at school would sign it and how you were wondering what color markers they might want to use. I nodded along with your speech, but all I could feel was your heart beat in your hand.
At seventeen, I escorted you across the basketball court. We walked, hand and hand, in front of the crowd of smiling families and supportive friends. You waved at them, your eyes gleaming. I couldn't look away from you. I couldn't help but notice how happy you were. When it was time for the game to start, I kissed your forehead and wished you luck. You ran off with a grin.
Even at nineteen, you were scared about being on your own. It had always been you and me. Now, in this empty apartment your breath was heavy and your voice was quiet. I soothed your worries and helped make the space feel as much like home as I could. Before I left, you grabbed my hand in both of yours and wrapped it tightly. I didn't know I was also in need of comforting until that moment.
You were twenty six. You were grown, and had been for a while. But that didn't make seeing you in a white gown seem any more real. I couldn't convince myself that the wedding invitation wasn't pretend and that the man in the tux was there to take you from me. The music played as we walked down the aisle, hand in hand. My tears competed with my smile as your veil brushed the sleeve of my dress. Finally, we stopped, and you turned to me and nodded. With that, you let go of my hand. I watched from my seat as he took your hands in his. As he placed a ring upon your finger. As he held you close as I'd always done.
My baby was grown. Her hands now laid in those of another. I clapped with the crowd as you kissed, the flowers around you matching the blush in your cheeks. I'm glad you have new hands to hold.
But I'm sure you know that mine will always be here.