Hand in Hand

A few nights ago, the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML returned from her week-plus long stint behind the Zion Curtain. After a long day of flying, made longer by everyone's favorite She Hag, Mother Nature, and her latest havoc wreaking playmate, Tropical Depression Bill, SML was famished, so we made a beeline to Bear's Smokehouse to enjoy an inappropriate amount of meat. I can't say enough good about their burnt ends, but I digress, as this is not meant to be a gushing ode to their fine barbecue.

We got home and went about the normal things that are the hallmarks of a couple that have been married for nearly twenty seven years. We puttered around, got unpacked, debated as to whether we should start a load of laundry, and noted again how much TV sucks, because it does. Sleep sounded like the best option.

As I started to fall asleep, I did something unusual, at least for me. I reached over and took my wife's hand and held it. I'd missed her and I wanted to hold her hand. As I held her hand and as I began drifting off to sleep, I thought about the past few days wherein I watched my wife interacting with her adult daughters and saw her grandmothering (PS - not a word, right?) the heck out of her grandson. I reflected on holding her hand as we saw her cousin married a few days earlier. With these images in my mind lulling me to sleep, I squeezed her hand and fell asleep, hand in hand. All was right in the world.

Hand in hand. I do not take that for granted, not for a second. Circumstances are different for each of us. Our time hand in hand with someone may have been limited for whatever reason. There's always a hand to hold, be it an aging parent, a friend in need, or even if it's just a memory for now.

I know that I am ridiculously lucky to have the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML to march through this life hand in hand. So as we go about the most mundane of tasks today, like go to the nightmare that is Costco on Saturday, I will happily hold her hand.