When my husband and I first started dating, he would hold my hand so tightly that my fingers would go numb. Seriously! He was always holding my hand, even if we were just walking around inside a store or riding along in the car. After several minutes I would unhinge his fingers from mine, shake some blood back into them, and then give him my hand again, smiling.
This trend didn't slow down one iota even after we got married. Oh, no! Hand holding was just something we did--all the time. And no matter how many times I would laugh at him and say, "You're squeezing them too hard!", he never got it. He just loved holding--squeezing--my hand.
I was just thinking the other night about how much I miss that....
You see, two years ago, he was in an accident at the oil refinery where he worked. His job was to climb 123 of those huge tanks (the big white ones with the winding staircases that go around the sides) and gauge their oil levels. That fateful morning, he climbed to the top of a 36 foot tank, opened the hatch, leaned over, and took a deep breath of nitrogen gas--something that shouldn't have been there. He immediately passed out and fell headlong 26 feet down the ladder. When he woke a few minutes later, he didn't realize that he was already paralyzed from the chest down.
It's been 812 days since he grabbed my hand and squeezed my fingers until they got numb. How I miss that....
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