The Third Hand

The Third Hand 

When I was growing up, I always had hands to hold. The first two hands were the hands of my parents. The third hand was the hand of my brother Joe. 

Joseph arrived seventeen months after I did. I have no memories of life without him. Even though he was followed by four more siblings, his presence was most constant in my life. He crawled into the cradle the day I moved up to a crib. He jumped into the crib when I climbed into the youth bed (the kind with rails) and took my place there when I moved again to a “big girl bed.” 

Joseph was a quiet kid — in direct contrast to his older sister. He didn’t say much because I took care of most conversation. Leading him by the hand, I herded him away from danger as he wandered happily along in his cloud of imagination, a wistful smile on his face.

My family moved a lot. My parents held our hands most times, but often we were asked to hold the hands of grandparents, aunts, and uncles. The transfers went smoothly for me because my other hand was always firmly fastened to Joe’s. We took home with us wherever we went. No need to be homesick. We had each other.

Joseph and I moved through grade school and into high school with me still blazing the trail and Joe helping me clear it. Even though we had different interests, I sang in the choir while Joe played in the band, Joe loved baseball and I left the room when the game came on; we shared values and experiences which held us together. We still do.

As I grew, I held other hands. Four more siblings, Paul, Maria, Carla, and Michael, rounded out our family. Our hands intertwined in happy and not-so-happy times. One by one we let go of our parents’ hands and each other’s as we stepped out into the larger world. We grasped other hands as we formed families of our own. 

So many hands join us together now — spouses, children, nieces and nephews, grandchildren —their grip holding hearts close. Our hearts hold us together in times of joy and sorrow. Love binds us.

There is only one requirement for holding hands. You must reach out. Babies do it in the cradle. Toddlers do it when they take their first tottering steps. Young adults drop parents’ hands for a while but eventually, they reach back to hold tight to Mom’s and Dad’s. We reach out with heart and hands to lovers, friends, and children. When hands fall away, we hold memories of them in our hearts. 

Joe’s hand is far away now but I hold it in my heart. I hold my father’s, my mother’s, my siblings’, my husband’s, my children’s, and my friends’ whenever I reach out to others with love. 

Many hands go unheld. Hands are for holding. Hearts are for loving. Reach out and grasp both.