Squeeze My Hand and
Remember when you were a child and
you fell and hurt yourself? Do you remember what your mother did to ease the pain? My
mother, Grace Rose, would pick me up, carry me to her bed, sit me down, kiss my
“owwie,” and then sit on the bed beside me, take my hand in her’s and say,
“When it hurts, squeeze my hand and I’ll tell you that I love you.” Over
and over, I’d squeeze her hand, and each time, without fail, I’d hear the words,
“Mary, I love you.”
Sometimes, I’d find myself
pretending I’d been hurt just to have that ritual with her. As I grew up, the ritual
changed, but she always found a way to ease the pain and increase the joy I felt in any
area of my life. On difficult days during high school, she’d offer her favorite
Hershey chocolate almond bar when I returned home. As a young adult in my twenties,
she’d call to suggest a spontaneous picnic lunch at Estabrook Park just to celebrate
a warm, sunny day in Wisconsin, and always, a hand-written thank you note would arrive in
the mail after every single visit she and my father made to my home, reminding me of how
special I was to her. But the most memorable ritual remains her holding my hand when I was
a child and saying, “When it hurts, squeeze my hand and I’ll tell you that I
love you.”
One morning, in my late thirties,
following a visit by my parents the night before, my father phoned me at work. Always
commanding and clear in his directions, I heard confusion and panic in his voice,
“Mary, something’s wrong with your mother and I don’t know what to do.
Please come over as quickly as you can.”
The ten minute drive to my parent’s home filled me with dread, wondering what
was happening to my mother. When I arrived, I found Dad pacing in the kitchen and mom
laying on their bed. Every bodily fluid that could release itself had. Her eyes were
closed and her hands were resting on her stomach. I called to her, trying to keep my voice
as calm as possible, “Mom, I’m here.”
“Mary?
“Yes, mom.”
“Mary, is that you?”
Yes, Mom, it’s me.”
I wasn’t prepared for the next question and when I heard it, I froze, not
knowing what to say.
“Mary, am I going to die?”
Imagine if you were asked that question, how you might answer it. Tears welled up
inside me as I looked at my loving mother laying there so helpless. My thoughts were
racing, until this question crossed my mind, “What would Mom say?”
I paused for a moment that seemed
like a million years, waiting for the words to come…“Mom, I don’t know if
you’re going to die, but if you need to, it’s ok. I love you.”
She cried out, “Mary, I hurt so
much.”
Again, I wondered what to say. I sat
down beside her on the bed, picked up her hand and heard myself say,
“Mom,
when it hurts, squeeze my hand and I’ll tell you that I love you.”
She squeezed my hand.
“Mom, I love you.”
Many hand squeezes and “I love
you’s” passed between my mother and me during the next two years until she
passed away from ovarian cancer. Each day I am reminded that we never know when our
moments of truth will come, but I do know now that when they do, whomever I’m with, I
will offer my mother’s sweet ritual of love every time, “When it hurts, squeeze
my hand and I’ll tell you that I love you.” And if you’re by yourself, put
your left hand in your right, squeeze it tight and tell yourself “I love you.”
copyright
1996-2004 Mary Marcdante
If you are interested in sharing this story with friends, please include this information in the body of your email: For more inspiration for yourself and your relationships, visit www.marymarcdante.com and click on "Inspire Yourself!"
Subscribe to Mary's "Inspired Action" newsletter,
filled with tips, resources, links, and products to keep you inspired,
enthusiastic, and healthy every day and especially in the midst of challenge
and change. If you would like to publish this story in your newsletter or link to your website, please contact our office for permission at or (858) 792-6786 or www.marymarcdante.com.
Home
| About Mary | Meeting
Planners | Program Topics |