Holding
Her Hand
Even there
shall thy hand lead me,
and thy
right hand shall hold me.
--
Psalm 139:10
A few years ago, I met an adorable elderly
gentleman in the mammogram waiting room. I had jokingly asked him if it was a
good place to pick up "girls." He smiled; no, he was there with his wife, Edie.
She came back from her procedure. He lit up, radiating love.
So began a friendship and email
correspondence that was saddened recently by the death of that beloved wife.
Now he signs his emails: "Andy
without Edie."
Even though he's sad, there's so
much beauty in his grief. He wrote:
"Sometimes I wonder if I will ever stop
missing my little Edie. It is by day and by night. But only yesterday I figured
out what's wrong with me, and why I am so unstable in this senior society that abounds
me. It's this:
"Ever since
I was 19 years old, I have been in love. I have always had my little mate alongside
me, by day and by night. When my first wife died after almost 50 years, along
came Edie. We both agreed that the Lord brought us together. I never touched any
other woman during these years -- 68 of them. Now I have lost it all -- no
little lady -- no one to find in a loving touch. I have learned that one can't
turn love on and off like a lightbulb."
Here's what
gets me: the thing he misses most is holding Edie's hand.
Andy and Edie . . . always
holding hands.
They were close
and went everywhere together. "I always felt good if I could take her hand and
find that it was cold, then take the other one and find it cold, too. A cuddly
hand-warming session took place and the cold hands problem was cured up."
He
recollected: "Holding hands and driving a car don't go together, so we didn't.
But we had a fun hobby when we got out of the car. As we walked along holding
hands, if she pulled away suddenly, I knew that she had spotted a lost penny on
the sidewalk.
"This got
to be fun for us oldsters, and we did it for years. One time after we'd spent
about $10 to eat, we were walking across the parking lot when I had to pull my
hand from hers to investigate something that turned out to be a lost $10 bill
under the snow."
He wrote, "Edie's
Parkinson's disease often kept her hands moving for no reason. Sometimes I'd
just take hold of one to stop the action. Being a full-time caregiver, I often
found myself holding her hands for no reason other than to communicate. Many
persons don't realize that the hands can 'talk.'
"Often, as
we walked along and chatted, if a heartwarming subject or thought should pop
up, an extra squeeze of the hand would let us 'talk' it over by hand. A turn
toward me and a smile from those pretty brown eyes, and my heart and hand would
melt into hers. What wonderful times we had.
"As we grew
older, holding hands grew into more of an emergency grip if she lost her
balance or began to fall for any reason. I made sure that I was always there,
with a subconscious effort to keep her safe. This worked many times over,
and if we weren't holding hands, I'd have my hand under her arm to prevent
her from falling. She never fell when I was with her."
He wrote
this poem:
HOLDING HANDS
Now that I can hold your hands no
more,
I miss you by day and by night.
I cling to my memories of you all
alone,
I thought that I'd never let you out
of sight.
But now time has passed, and you are
gone
I remain to cherish our true love.
You were such a wonderful gift from
God,
Now I know that you're with Him up
above.
Oh,
Andy. Dear Andy. With a love like that, you could never be "without Edie." You'll
always walk together, hand in hand . . . with the One Who joined your hands together
in the first place. †
