Holding Hands

Ramona and I had gone to school together but never dated. Basic High School shenanigans one group of kids couldn't associate with another for whatever reason. Our circle of friends overlapped. However, I was a grade lower, and heaven forbid if a girl dated down. I do remember we shared a few encounters during those high school days. She is a playful soul by nature, and back then, even more so. Those few encounters are on my High School experience highlight reel. I don't remember being dreamy about Ramona. However, I do remember she stood out. You know when you are looking at the stars? There are billions of them. Yet, your eye is drawn to one; that one star captures your attention. Ramona had caught my attention.

She graduated a year before I did and disappeared. I graduated and went to university until running out of money. I enlisted in the US Air Force so I could eat and stay dry when it rained. I was mistaken about the latter.

After two years, I decided to go home for a visit. I grew up in this small town of 2500 people on a good day. Two days before my deployment flight, I ran into Ramona. Our conversation came easy, like old friends, though we were never more than acquaintances. We learned neither of us was in a relationship. Soooo ... I asked her on a date on my last night in town. She accepted.

A traveling carnival had been set up for a 4th of July weekend. We shared more easy conversations while eating burgers. It was the mid 80's, before smartphones, Facebook, Twitter, Snapchat, or any need for being digitally connected. Picture it in black and white if that helps. Well, it was the 80's, so picture it in Kodachrome. People were selling popcorn and cotton candy. The smell of funnel cakes and greasy machinery filled the air. A field of trailers unfolding and transforming into thrill rides. Neon lights, sounds of engines, turning gears, laughter, squeals, and carny workers, created a storyteller's scene used in movies.

We walked the midway. Your prize is upgraded at each game if you win multiple times consecutively. I played a game called "The Spot." The object is to cover a large red painted circle with three smaller yellow disks, $1 a try. No red showing won. The hype man demonstrated how easy it was. I tried a couple of times before getting the trick. Eventually, I won enough games for Ramona to pick the almost biggest prize. An oversized stuffed animal raccoon from the #3 shelf. The operator asked us to move on. The smile, joy, and giggling from my date were priceless.

Then it happened. While walking away, she gave the raccoon an exaggerated hug and cradled it in her arm. Then she weaved the fingers of her other hand into mine. We pulled closer together as we walked. Finally, she leaned her head on my shoulder and didn't say anything.

My mind exploded. I am holding Ramona's hand! I'm for honest holding hands. I never knew there were different kinds of hand-holding. That evening, the Oklahoma sun going down, reflecting blues, oranges, and purples only God can create. The carnival lights glowed as the day faded to night. A memory frozen in time became engraved in my mind. I took her home and held her hands at the front door. I asked if I could write her. Her words, "Please do." Our arms extended as I moved back towards my car. Our fingers touched until distance broke the contact. A few hours later, I caught a plane to Europe.

I wrote her a letter as soon as I figured out the military postal system. If you have never waited in anticipation for a letter to arrive, you are missing out on a genuine experience. The internet with e-mail wasn't a thing yet. Communication was a slow burn of anticipation, not an instant text. Long-distance international phone calls were expensive and often unavailable.

Nevertheless, we exchanged letters several times over the next 18 months. Once back in town, I asked her to marry me. We married two weeks later. After that, she said goodbye to the small town and followed me around the world for the next 20 years. She held my hand on stage at my retirement ceremony some years ago. That day, like the carnival, is a day that stands out.

Our son arrived dramatically in 1988. Ramona had a difficult pregnancy with a traumatic delivery. I held her hand while an emergency C-section saved two lives. She held my hand as if hanging from a cliff, desperate not to fall. Both our knuckles were white, hanging on for dear life. Thankfully, all ended well. Both baby and mom recovered.

On the day my grandmother passed away. My first experience losing a close family member. In my twenties, I had never lost anyone before. I lay on the bed sobbing. Grief was a new feeling for me. Ramona behind me. She cradled me gently, holding my hand. She didn't say anything.

We attended a local church, made friends, and lived the 1990's American dream. We attended a couple's Sunday school class. Then, one Sunday on a cold February, I felt her touch my hand under the table. I opened my hand, waiting for her perfectly fitting fingers to wrap into mine. But that didn't happen.

Instead, I felt trembling, cold twigs. Turning to look, I saw her eyes wide with fear. She didn't look at me. Speaking in a slurring whisper, she could barely say, "Somet'en wrog." A single tear formed in the corner of her eye welled up, refracting light. A stroke battled inside, preventing her hands from cooperating. She couldn't hold my hand.

A couple of days later, I sat in a chair close to her hospital bed. Yet, another stereotypical hospital scene from a TV show. Only, this time we were the unwitting performers. I held her hand while she slept. Her pulse beating, and she had a warm touch. My fingers latched to hers. A perfect fit. I remembered the carnival when it happened.

I felt a gentle squeeze. The rush of emotions was more powerful than any previous time we had held hands. Two more squeezes. No words, just interlocking fingers communicating, "I'm here."

The same message was communicated when I grieved my grandmother, "I'm here." During our son's birth, "I'm here." Each instance is an echo from a time years earlier when two young people held hands for the first time. A couple, really holding hands, really feeling for the first time a sweet message, "I'm here."

Ramona didn't suffer a full stroke. Instead, she suffered Transient Ischemic Attacks, or TIAs for short. The TIAs weakened her physically. Fortunately, the paralysis side effects were temporary. A remaining side effect is "lazy balance"; at least, that is what I call it. She can walk on her own. She doesn't use a cane. But, when changing vertical position, she can get a little wobbly.

Now, when we hold hands, it's not like we did at the carnival or the time when our son was born. Now, it's everything combined and more. The reasons are far more meaningful today than a couple of young people could have imagined all those years ago. We help hold each other steady. We hold hands for balance, emotional support, or a romantic stroll. While holding hands, we simply say, "I'm here."