I was always a Daddy’s girl and with everything that has been going on in my life I find myself thinking more and more about my daddy. I think about how safe I felt with my small hand in my daddy’s hands. Let me explain! I remember all sorts of things about my daddy. To me he was the greatest man. He worked hard, provided for us, loved his country. He taught us about honor, duty, sacrifice, love, and living in the moment.
For me though the memory that always comforts me is holding my daddy’ hand as we walked into church. Every Sunday he held my hand as we crossed the parking lot. I remember how small my hand was in his, he had a wart in the middle of hand that he later had removed. I remember feeling like I was ten feet tall holding his hand and like I was the most important person in the world.
Most of all I remember how safe I felt. I knew he would never let anything hurt me and that no matter what everything was going to be okay. I find that when things get tough I miss and need him more. It is in those moments that I hold onto that simple memory of a child feeling a parent’s love. That feeling of being safe brings me comfort.
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Hands can have so much comfort within them and just a simple touch or a squeeze can mean so much. I remember my grandfather’s hands–farmer’s hands, with one finger missing from an accident. I can see them to this day even tho he has been gone 40 years.
How touching and I wonder how many kids feel that way, I never really thought about it but looking back, it was very comforting and a feeling of security.
What a touching tribute to something I have never thought about before. It is wonderful that something like holding your dad’s hand going to church could make such a tender memory. I wonder if my son will have any memories like that of me? I hope so.
This is so sweet, Rita. It really brings out my own memories of times that I felt safe. It is a real blessing that you can find this memory for comfort through some rough times.
I’ve been meditating on hands lately myself. I love holding my three- and six-year-old daughters’ hands. I’m so conscious of how fast they are growing I want to make a conscious effort to remember the feel of their little hands in mine. It makes me squeeze a little tighter and dread the day when they don’t want to hold Mama’s hand any more!
This is absolutely beautiful Rita. It is one of those small things that we take for granted and then end up missing so much. I love when you write from the heart like this. You always make us think of our own special memories. Thank you!
What a sweet story. It makes me think about my father who has been gone for so many years now. I miss him quite often.
I was never close with my dad and don’t speak to him now. But I am so happy that my boys have a great dad to look up to. My oldest is a daddy’s boy for sure and my youngest may end up that way.. although I am hoping for a mama’s boy.. 🙂
I am close to my Dad, and he lives with me and is 83 almost 84. I have always felt close to my Dad! We have a special bond because I am the first born. There is a great deal of security and strength that I get from my Dad. He too was a hard worker and worked to support all of my other brothers and sisters.