Tiny
potentiality of what would be
As you
sleep
Trust held
In the gentle
clasp of your hand on my finger
Hand held
Lost in the
soft encircling of mine
Trust
growing
As we walk
Hands held
in protective embrace
Hand pressed
in gentle play
Hugged in
firm grip,
Trust flowering
As you
laugh
Carefree in
the game we play
Hand encircling
mine
Potentiality
grown strong
Grasps,
presses, time reverses
In laughter
the unspoken knowledge
Of son
outgrown father
I hold your
hand
While you
drift in restless unconsciousness
Washed in
your fears and my tears
Our hand entwined
grasping at life slipping
I sit in choked silence.
Your hand grows
cold
Lifeless, limp,
slips from my grip
Time in
shock stills
Emptied
handed now
A memory is
all I hold
Still sometimes
In the
gentle wisp of wind
As it curls
its way around me
Your hand
brushes mine
And I smile
in recollection
Of hands
held.
___________________________________________________
___________________________________________________
I used to play a game with my children when they were young
– it was a simple game of squeezing their hands. They would squeal, laugh trying to pull their
hands away.
As my youngest grew he would periodically play this game
with me, testing his strength against mine, seeing if he could squeeze my hand
and crunch my knuckles and win against me.
He would end up laughing and giggling too much to squeeze my hand e too
hard.
But then, Christmas 2008 after pudding while I was sitting
on the lounge he came and coiled his lanky frame on the seat next to me,
“Hey pops” he said
And as I watched he grabbed my hand. Stunned at how his hands were so large my
mind went back 24 years to when as a baby those same hands were so small, so
tiny, so beautifully formed.
He grabbing my hand squeezed, we laughed while I tried not
to wince in pain at the strength he had but in that laughter we both knew the
line had been crossed. He was now my
equal, more than my equal. My son had
more strength than I.
Four weeks later he was in a coma, eight weeks later he had
passed from this world. As I sat for
those four weeks in Intensive Care holding his hand, my mind returned to that
day when my son sat down and said
“Hey pops” and I knew my son was a man.
Matt this one is for you!
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