I miss you, terribly, but that’s nothing new, now is it?
You know what sounds really good though?
Your hand. Your perfect, smooth, loving hand. More specifically, your hand in mine.
Right now, as I just begin to drift off to sleep with thoughts of you in tow.
And tomorrow, as I see you for the first time in what will always be felt as a lifetime.
And the next time we cuggle or schnuddle, I’d love to hold your hand then even as I feel your skin against mine. God has cursed me with an excellent imagination, and I must confess, a good portion if not all of my talent is devoted to you.
And also the next time we make love, your hand has to be in mine for that too.
And when I walk with you to your dorm room on move-in day, my other hand carrying a box with your expensive, over-priced clothing.
And when we walk around your campus, talking about your friends and all the new experiences of college, your hand should be present for that too.
It should also be in mine for all of our dates that will come to define my existence and happiness.
And I would also like to request its presence when we simply sit, at our favorite spots at our known hangouts by then, enjoying not the places, but each other.
I’d be heartbroken your hand weren’t holding mine when it was my turn to go to college orientation, or move-in day, or whatever tradition must ensue for my college rite.
I can think of no greater honor or joy than holding your hand in mine when I take the final knee and ask you to make me the happiest man alive.
And should you say no, well then your hand will just have to stay in mine as we continue walking unabashed from the scene of my failure, despite the many onlookers.
But should you say yes, well then I’ll be damned if your hand isn’t in mine as we pick out our catering service and make our deposit on our place of union. In Greece, of course.
And I think I most look forward to the time when I have the privilege of holding your hand during the most important event of my life, while the vows are read. I’ve of course opted to write my own.
And of course we’ll have to hold hands while we browse real estate and homes, all the while arguing over the closet space and possibility of a man cave.
And even though this may be a tough one to finagle, I’ll do everything in my power to find a way to your hand when you tell me our family has grown by one.
And I don’t think I’ll be letting go of your hand from that point on except to continue to make you breakfast and clean the house, of course.
And my hand will be in yours through all the Lamaze classes and all the baby book reading and all the meetings with the obstetrician.
Our fingers will be interlaced right through the new most important day of my life, even though the life will be squeezed from them by you, of course.
And then I’ll have one hand with you, and another on our most precious gift, the two most important things in this world.
And I’ll be reaching for your hand, in the middle of the night when crying is shredding the air, just to let you know to keep sleeping, that I’ll get it this time.
And we’ll be holding hands as we talk with the headmasters of the private preschools we consider.
And we’ll be holding hands through the parent teacher conferences.
And through the piano recitals. And through the fights. And through touring all the colleges they’re considering, because we know more than anyone else that they should be able to choose whatever college they want to go to.
And I’ll be holding your hand as we watch our little one get married.
And we’ll be holding hands through all of our anniversaries.
And through all our bridge and bingo nights.
And even when my hand grows withered and shaky, I’ll still be reaching for you, and your hand, just to be able to breathe.
And if you lose your memory a la The Notebook, well I’ll be holding your hand no matter how hard you resist.
And when Death knocks on our bedroom door and asks if I’m ready to leave, I’ll look down at our hands, fingers interlaced, and smile and nod, having lived the best life I ever could have wished for.
I love you.
My hand is waiting.