Of Hands Held - a Song for Matthew from his Dad

Newborn fingers curled

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.
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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!