Little Hands

I used to hold his chubby, sweaty little hand in mine as we walked to school together pretending to fly and talking about the planets we'd visited and aliens we'd seen.

Some days, too stubborn to put on his shoes, we'd walk shoe-less until he decided I was right in the end.

I warned him about dog poo and walking too close to the curb every day, several times.

We'd make hand-squeeze codes together.  One squeeze meant 'I love you'.  Two squeezes meant 'I think you are great'.  Three squeezes meant 'You smell.'

We'd chat on the way home about his day and he'd tell me all his exciting news.

Today, I took him for the last time.  In September he'll walk with Toby to a new school.  As he walked through the door, he smiled at me and waved.

Another 'letting go' moment that pulls at my heart as part of me is so excited about what lies ahead but the other part, the soft part, has to let go of his little hand so that it has space to grow into a bigger one.

I can't hold onto his hand anymore.  I can't squeeze it because it's time to let go and allow it to grow.  I have to step aside to make space for him.

It's with tears of sadness at the squidgy hands now gone, but joy as I look ahead to the future that I let go of him.  What will his hands accomplish now, as they grow without me?  What will he make?  Who will he care for?  What words will he write?  What decisions will he make?

I let go today a little bit more, and my Mummy heart aches, but the days and years ahead are exciting so I turn my face to them and prepare my heart for what they will bring.