Holding hands

The other day, I invited my dad out for coffee which turned into lunch. We both enjoy Costco hot dogs. He lit up when I asked him if he would like to go there for lunch instead of the French bistro. If we had been holding hot dogs we probably would have clinked them together like champaign glasses. ‘Capital idea!’… CLINK!

I drove to the store. As we walked across the parking lot, my dad reached out and held my hand. It’s been a long time since that has happened. For no other reason than it seems like something you would grow out of as you grow older. Holding hands with one’s parent at a young age is for safety, and containment.

I grasped my father’s hand and felt my heart warm. Yes, one of his knuckles was enlarged from arthritis and his hand was stiff with age and gardening… but that one simple act warmed my heart like hot cocoa on a winter’s day.

Much to my dismay, parents are not immortal. Hug and hold hands as often as you can. Forgive often. They are just as human as you. Show them love and kindness. when in doubt, take the blame and move on. It really does not matter and being right does nothing for your mental and physical health the way being merciful, and loving does for your health.

I’m going to remember that day for the rest of my life.


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