It was one of the first days of school and I was walking my youngest to her class. I had reached down to take her hand, and she pulled it away from me, telling me that she was too big now, to be holding her mommy's hand. She being the last of 5, I was saddened to get to that stage of motherhood where I no longer had a little hand to hold, and I didn't want to give it up. So I simply said to her, "But your hand fits!" I went on to tell her that her brother, and her sisters hands had all gotten too big, and didn't fit the same in mine like her hand did. I just said hers fit perfect, as I gave it a little squeeze. I remember her sweet little smile, as she looked up at me, feeling so proud that she had something the rest didn't, and held my hand into the school. I was so relieved when she continued to hold my hand.
A lot has happened, and a lot has changed since then. I now work at the school I walked my little girl into those 3 years ago. And life has not slowed any. Last week, at the end of the day, I was walking with my girls to my car with an armful of things from my room. Savanah tried to hold onto my hand, and I tried to brush it away kindly, not wanting to drop anything. "But it still fits mom", she said to me. I stopped walking and looked down at her. Since that day, so many years ago, neither she nor I have ever talked about her hand fitting. She just let me take it when I wanted,and I let her take mine. She wasn't hurt by what I had said, but the look in her eyes told me this was important. I shifted my things, and very happily took her hand in mine, so glad it still fit.
Since that day I have kept reliving a moment from the hospital with Brittany. By this time, she was in her coma, and we were in Primary Children's Hospital. She had had dozens of blood draws, and tests done. She had a "bolt" protruding out of the right side of her head. She had tubes going everywhere, along her arms, down her throat. It was such a tangle of life sustaining drugs, that in the end would not be enough. But her left hand was free. It wasn't hooked up to anything, it just lay across her body, so peacefully. I lay next to her for several hours as time sped by all too quickly. Those beds are tiny, and there wasn't much room for me, as I lay on my side, not wanting to disturb anything. During those hours, I held her hand as much as I could. I knew there would never be a chance to do it again. Even as I stood next to her bed, when visitors were there, I always wanted her hand in mine. It felt so warm, and soft. It felt alive. I kept waiting and waiting for her to squeeze it one more time. That time never came.
A few months ago, John had the day off, and as I was working, he had sent me a text, telling me we had just received a package from Primary Children's, and was wondering if I knew what it was. I had no idea! So many thoughts and fears hit me full force. What could it possibly be? It had been nearly a year since Brittany had died, and all the bills had been paid off. It was a mold the nurses had made of Brittany's hand. It's only the palm of her hand, with her fingers slightly curled, but it is wonderful. I can lay my fingers in between hers. Although it is made of plaster, I swear I can almost feel her soft skin again. The first time I did this, I realized that my children will ALWAYS be my babies. I realized that my children's hands will always fit, no matter how old they get.
A lot has happened, and a lot has changed since then. I now work at the school I walked my little girl into those 3 years ago. And life has not slowed any. Last week, at the end of the day, I was walking with my girls to my car with an armful of things from my room. Savanah tried to hold onto my hand, and I tried to brush it away kindly, not wanting to drop anything. "But it still fits mom", she said to me. I stopped walking and looked down at her. Since that day, so many years ago, neither she nor I have ever talked about her hand fitting. She just let me take it when I wanted,and I let her take mine. She wasn't hurt by what I had said, but the look in her eyes told me this was important. I shifted my things, and very happily took her hand in mine, so glad it still fit.
Since that day I have kept reliving a moment from the hospital with Brittany. By this time, she was in her coma, and we were in Primary Children's Hospital. She had had dozens of blood draws, and tests done. She had a "bolt" protruding out of the right side of her head. She had tubes going everywhere, along her arms, down her throat. It was such a tangle of life sustaining drugs, that in the end would not be enough. But her left hand was free. It wasn't hooked up to anything, it just lay across her body, so peacefully. I lay next to her for several hours as time sped by all too quickly. Those beds are tiny, and there wasn't much room for me, as I lay on my side, not wanting to disturb anything. During those hours, I held her hand as much as I could. I knew there would never be a chance to do it again. Even as I stood next to her bed, when visitors were there, I always wanted her hand in mine. It felt so warm, and soft. It felt alive. I kept waiting and waiting for her to squeeze it one more time. That time never came.
A few months ago, John had the day off, and as I was working, he had sent me a text, telling me we had just received a package from Primary Children's, and was wondering if I knew what it was. I had no idea! So many thoughts and fears hit me full force. What could it possibly be? It had been nearly a year since Brittany had died, and all the bills had been paid off. It was a mold the nurses had made of Brittany's hand. It's only the palm of her hand, with her fingers slightly curled, but it is wonderful. I can lay my fingers in between hers. Although it is made of plaster, I swear I can almost feel her soft skin again. The first time I did this, I realized that my children will ALWAYS be my babies. I realized that my children's hands will always fit, no matter how old they get.
I'm not sure how often you check this blog; your last post was a long while again.
ReplyDeleteI'm a friend of brittany's from when we were in 8th grade. We didn't know each other well, but given the time, we would've. The sand in the hour glass is never sufficient..
She wrote a poem; I know she wrote many, but this specific one was read aloud at her funeral, and it spoke of a girl who hid behind her hair.
I'd... I'd really like to see that poem again. I know it's painful beyond belief to remember her.. but, please, if it's not too much to ask, would you post it here? Or possibly email it to me, at ainsley.hopkins@suusuccess.org ?