In Your Hands

           I never knew that I would find my rescuer, my strength, through the person I had known for so long.  I never thought that, telling my story to the open air in that car, your silence would be broken by the touch of fingertips…and then one hand reaching across for mine.  You still did not speak.  I kept talking, covering this thing that I could not put into words for itself.  Questions raced through my mind, but you kept that still silence that I would grow to understand through time.

            That one hand and mine parted ways, until our mouths found each other for a kiss.  That kiss turned to two…and three…and so many more that they all ran together.  You surrounded me with your arms, the first time that I felt there was hope in this darkness that had enveloped me.

            You were unsure.  I was too.  But, you came through in the end.  You would never leave us.  I couldn’t understand it, and I didn’t think I deserved it.  But, I knew I needed your hand.  I grasped on and followed you, watching as you worked hard, finished college, and nailed the career you longed for.  Not only did those hands carry my son, but those hands later ran across the belly that our own son was kicking in.

            We traveled, finding where we would truly belong.  Our hands parted through stress and waved in the air when we were frustrated.  But, they always grew weary and found each other in the end.  We bought a house, and your dear hands that held mine would learn the many tasks of home repair.  Soon after, those hands would hold a promise…as we stood at the altar with rings.

            Our hands still forget where they belong.  They separate, and grow cold, and become stressed.  But, they are always close.  Almost 8 years after you reached your fingers to mine in your silent way, I realize that our hands find each other more often than ever now.  That intertwining of our fingers holds a magnetism of strength that I could never have predicted. Together, we can face anything.