Please hold my hand - my story
Please hold my hand – my story
At first glimpse, the phrase “holding hands” immediately caught my attention. It brought a sense of security and warmth. It also brought back memories of the time when the lack of it broke my spirit.
My mother used to hold my hands whenever we would go out. It wasn’t often so I craved for it and looked forward to it. Being the third child among six girls, I was hardly noticed and so those times were not frequent. But it was okay as long as I knew that she would be there when I would need her hand.
Before I even graduated from my sixth grade, my mother said she needed to go away. She was so depressed because my dad was living with another woman. She told us that she would go crazy if we will not let her go. My mother said she had to also go to another country so that she could support us. At an early age I could not understand. All I knew was that I did not like her to go crazy and so me and my sisters willingly let her go. But as I stood at the airport watching her plane until it was like a dot in the sky with tears flowing down my eyes I realized that she will not be there to hold my hands again. It shattered me.
The days and nights that followed became a nightmare. I did not know how to comfort myself, my two year old sister and other siblings who kept sobbing. I could not contain my sadness and the pain that slowly crept inside my entire being.
From that time on, I felt that I had lost a part of myself. I did, because my mom never permanently returned to us. She came for short visits but as the years went by the visits became less frequent. She seemed more and more distant in body, spirit and emotion.
I went through my teenage years and adulthood with so many questions un-answered and so many longings unfulfilled. At the brink of my troubles and frustrations there was a time when I got tired and attempted to take my life but I believe God did not allow it to happen.
My childhood was not easy. That hand that I so longed for was not there when I graduated from my elementary, high school and college days and during the ups and downs of my life. But yes, I understand, or at least I try my best to.
I am now married and have my own children but that pain has never left me. It is like there is still a part of me that is missing … that I am still not complete.
It has been 18 years since I last saw her. All my sisters are now in the same country where she is now. I do not know if their longings have been fulfilled. As for me, I am still here waiting for that time when I will be able to hold her hands again.