Reach out and touch...somebody's hand.

Have you ever given any thought to how important our hands are to our relationships with others?  When you meet someone new for the first time...do you reach out and shake their hand?  Don't you just love that person that you meet and you reach out your hand for a handshake, only to realize that you're about to be pulled in to their bear hug. (these happen to be my personal favorite)

Someone asked me today if I could share something very meaningful and unsual about my trip to Ireland and my very first thought was about all the wonderful people that I met and the relationships that blossomed there.  And then I remembered how during many of my conversations, my hand would be  entwined with whomever I was speaking with at the time... creating the intimacy of friendship.......forming a bond.  Occasionaly, there was the mere grasp of someone's hand and a gentle squeeze.......and even that connected with me and touched my heart.

Four years ago, following my Mom's brain surgery, I walked into her recovery room and the first thing I did was grab her hand.  We had just learned that despite a successful surgery, she was terminal.  Her hand was warm........and so incredibly soft..........and I remember thinking that I never wanted to forget that very moment and how her hand felt in mine.  I thought about the fact that she was once a child who lovingly placed her hand into that of her mother..........and then became a mother herself...and lovingly held my hand........and then I became a mother........and held the hands of my own children........and now those of my grandbabies. 

Now this is where I thought it would be really cute to upload a photo I thought I had taken of  Baby Fletcher's hand in mine.  I know I took one.  I searched my photo folders on my desktop to no avail.  Assuming it must be amongst one of the many on my phone, I started flipping through to see if I could find it.  And instead I found this...a photo I had totally forgotten I had taken of my hand...nestled in my Dad's.  I spent the last 18 days of his life, at his bedside........with my hand in his.........every day.........until his last breath.........I held his hand in mine. 

Now I know why...reaching out and touching someone's hand...is so meaningful.