Mama and Jack Forever

I love Jack for a billion reasons, but right now it’s because he always wants to hold my hand.  He searches for it, asks for it, runs with his small hand to catch mine.

Andres and Max are love ’em and leave ’em types who tend to hold my hand briefly before breaking free.

Not Jack.  He seeks me and never wants to let go.  I recall an ayurvedic doctor who met Jack and I when he was only a few months old.  He unfurled his tiny fingers to read his palm.  He found what he called a mystical cross, plain as day, on his hand.  Mine had one too.  When we got home I checked Max’s and Andres’ hands.  Nothing, but long happy life lines.

I hold Jack’s hand every chance I get, mindful that one day he will want to break free too.  My hand will be empty again, except that it will never be alone.  Out there, ahead of me, behind me, wherever Jack will be, he’ll hold the pattern of my palm in his own.

Forever.