Hold My Hand

“Mommy?” Charity whispered into the dark still night. “Hold my hand.”

I felt the soft skin of her little hand slide smoothly into mine. It fit perfectly, like it was meant to be there. The connection reached straight into my mommy heart.

Together we picked our way through the rocky path toward the warm light of the house window.

Conscious of that little hand warming mine I thought how soon she would grow out of this dependence. Will I know when the last time comes, I wondered? Will I know when she is too big to reach for my hand? Will I notice….?

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