Ever since the day he was born, he's been holding on to me.
I can recall that tiny, precious hand grasping my gown as I soaked up every detail of his wondrous being on that long ago birthday. Within a few weeks he moved to my hair. I cannot recall a time since then that small fingers are not intertwined with my hair at some point of the day. Only fleeting glimpses of that little baby can be seen now days, but the holding on remains.
I've often wondered if he could sense the unrest in the world around him. I will admit that that pregnancy was one of the most emotionally difficult times of my life. I felt only happiness for the life growing inside me, but on the outside the relationship between his father and I was dying. It was a very, very lonely time. Could he feel this?
I wonder if my sadness shaped his own. If my despair rooted somewhere inside of him and grows now for reasons he can never comprehend. I can never know just where his pain comes from but I watch him battle it, losing so often.
Most evenings he will leave off the normal childhood distractions and steal in beside me, fingers finding my hair. He only stays a few moments, just enough. A small reminder for him that I am still here and for me that he still needs to know that, everyday.