handholdingThe boys still eagerly hold my hand when we go out and about. And it’s not just when we cross the street. I find that, my 5 year-old in particular, will just show up alongside me while we’re walking and all of the sudden his hand will be in mine. Divinity. This little hand doesn’t go unnoticed and I suspect although it won’t always come so frequently or so eagerly or so spontaneously, I’ll get to hold my son’s hands throughout my life if I ask. I really do treasure that hand in mine.

There is nothing of more value than this love of family we find as our children grow. Nothing more striking really than the intimacy that can exist between a family totally in love.

When we’re walking hand-in-hand my mind often slips to a stunning obituary I read last summer. In it, Jane Catherine Lotter (who wrote her own obituary) details her life’s achievements, her love for family, her gratitude and wisdom, and her memories. As she’s closing the piece she says, “At any rate, I am at peace. And on that upbeat note, I take my mortal leave of this rollicking, revolving world-this sun, that moon, that walk around Green Lake, that stroll through the Pike Place Market, the memory of a child’s hand in mine.”

There’s wisdom in clarity and it seems to me Jane had it and was generous enough to share it. One distillation of life’s joy being a child’s hand in her own. When you hold onto that hand today perhaps take notice of the extraordinary thing it is to have it curled up inside your own. I mean, wow.