This Is My Hand
My Hand Will Do
A Thousand Loving Things With You
You Will Remember
When I Am Tall
That Once My Hand Was Just This Small
A few months before he died, my dad found a little handprint in one of his favorite books. Scrawled next to it were the words “Heather–3 Yrs Old.” What he must have felt I don’t presume to know. But as I measure the distance between the moment I pressed my hand on that page and his death shortly before my twelfth birthday, the thing that stands out to me is that it felt like a flash in the pan.
Even when connections are not cut short, our little ones do not stay little for long, do they!?!!? Let’s enjoy them!
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