There can be magic in the touch of a hand that loves you. It brings comfort and a silent promise that says, "I am here and you are not alone."
I memorized every detail about my children. As babies, they reached for me whenever they were hungry or tired or just needed to be held. Sometimes, if they woke in the night, just the touch of my hand would ease them back to sleep. They clung to me when they took their first steps and we held hands when crossing streets and walking from the car to their classroom on their first day of school.
As they grew older and more independent, I noticed that they didn't hold my hand much any more. I told myself it was part of growing up, and I should just be glad they could do things on their own now.
But when you've been needed so much for such a long time, it's hard to step back and feel unnecessary.
Then one day, I was visiting my oldest son in New York, where he was working as an actor on a TV show. As we were about to cross a busy street that was filled with traffic, he grabbed my hand and shouted, "Hang on to me, Mom," then led me safely across.
At that moment, I realized two things. First, my boy had become a man. Second, it was clear that our roles had changed. We still needed each other, but in different ways than before.
That scene has replayed in various ways with each of my three children. They have all taught me to lean on them just as they once leaned on me, and that we can always lean on each other. We live miles apart, but stay in touch every day. There is magic and comfort and healing in the touch of a hand that loves you, even if it "touches" you from afar.