:: Squeeze My Hand and I'll Tell You That I Love You ::

This short story is taken from the book 'Chicken Soup for the Mother's Soul'. I read this particular story when I was having my breakfast alone in a crowded mamak near my office. When I finished, I bawled my eyes out and I think I almost gave the mamak a heart attack.. Hahaha.. now that I think about it, it was rather embarrassing and I'm pretty sure I wont be visiting that mamak for at least a week.

Anyway, I suddenly had the urge to share this with everyone. So enjoy peep..

p/s: Love you mother! 

Remember when you were a child and you fell and hurt yourself? Do you remember what your mother did to ease the pain? My mother, Grace Rose, would pick me up, carry me to her bed, sit me down and kiss my "owwie". Then she'd sit on the bed beside me, take my hand in hers and say, "When it hurts, squeeze my hand and I'll tell you that I love you". Over and over I'd squeeze her hand, and each time, without fail, I heard the words, "Mary, i love you."

Sometimes, I'd find myself pretending I'd been hurt just to have that ritual with her. As I grew up, the ritual changed, but she always found a way to ease the pain and increase the joy I felt in any area of my life. On difficult days during high school, she'd offer her favorite Hershey chocolate almond bar when I returned home. During my 20s, Mom often called to suggest a spontaneous picnic lunch at Estabrook Park just to celebrate a warm , sunny day in Wisconsin. A handwritten thank-you note arrived in the mail after every single visit she and my father made to my home, reminding me of how special I was to her.

But the most memorable ritual remained her holding my hand when I was a child and saying " When it hurts, squeeze my hand and I'll tell you that I love you".

One morning, when I was in my late 30s, following a visit by my parents the night before, my father phoned me at work. He was always commanding and clear in his directions, but I heard confusion and panic in his voice. "Mary, something's wrong with your mother and I dont know what to do. Please come over as quickly as you can".

The 10-minute drive to my parents' home filled me with dread, wondering what was happening to my mother. When I arrived, I found Dad pacing in the kitchen and Mom lying on her bed. Her eyes were closed and her hands rested on her stomach. I called to her, trying to keep my voice as calm as possible. "Mom, I'm here".

"Mary?"

"Yes, Mom".

"Mary, is that you?"

"Yes, Mom, it's me".

I wasn't prepared for the next question, and when I heard it, I froze, not knowing what to say.

"Mary, am I going to die?"

Tears welled up inside me and I looked at my loving mother lying there so helpless.

My thoughts raced, until this question crossed my mind: What would Mom say?

I paused for a moment taht seemed like a million years, waiting for the words to come. "Mom, I dont know if you're going to die, but if you need to, it's okay. I love you".

She cried out, "Mary, I hurt so much".

Again, I wondered what to say. I sat down beside her on the bed, picked up her hand and heard myself say, "Mom, when it hurts, squeeze my hand and I'll tell you that I love you".

She squeeze my hand.

"Mom, I Love you".

Many hand squeezes and "I love you's" passed between my mother and me during the next two years, until she passed away from ovarian cancer. We never know when our moment o truth will come, but I do know now that when they do, whomever I'm with, I will offer my mother's sweet ritual  of love every time. 

"When it hurts, squeeze my hand and I'll tell you that I love you".

Mary Marcdante