It’s such a common saying in my house. A simple four words that I know some day I will miss.  “Hold my hand, Momma.”  Or Cecilia just raises her hand to be placed into mine. To guide, to stand by, to support.It amazes me how such a soft, simple gesture provides so much strength in return. 

When my dad was sick, I used to lay in his bed with him while he watched tv and we would hold hands.  I was a teenager at the time and it didn’t feel weird. It just felt comforting to know that he was there. We wouldn’t say anything, we would just watch reruns of Married with children.  Dad loved that show. 

Over the past several months and even just the last few days, I have found myself asking Dad to hold my hand.  When the physical pain is too much and I feel alone. I close my eyes and pray, “Hold my Hand, Dad.”
© Nicole Szymonik and This Is the Pause Button, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Nicole Szymonik and This Is The Pause Button with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.