The Hand

When people look at this picture they would say they see me after having the twins. Reasonable for someone to say that but I see something totally different. I see the hand.

I see the hand that held me when I was young. The hand that held mine when I was scared or crossing the street. The hand that played catch with me for hours. The hand that taught me so many things. The hand that would rub my back in the mornings to wake me up before school. I see the hand of my hero, my Diddy.

I don't think it was until he was gone when it stood out in this picture to me. There is was - in the midst of both of families and the older two kids in the room - in all that excitement there stood my Diddy right beside me. Right beside me watching over his daughter and his new grandchildren. You can't see his face but I know that he had a huge smile and was bursting with pride over two more grandchildren.

I can remember the morning of that dreadful day in February when the doctors told us there was nothing else they could do, that all I wanted to do was hold his hand one more time. I wanted so badly for him to squeeze my hand just one more time and tell me he loved me. That hand that was so big and strong. That hand that when I saw it in this photo, brought me to tears. He was always looking out for us and this picture just shows that.

Today he would have been 76. I miss him just as much as I did when we left the hospital that day without him. I know that I will see him one day and be able to hold his hand again.