Holding hands

Years ago, when I was little girl, we held hands. We'd swing them as we walked. Mom would squeeze, and then I'd squeeze back. And on and on. The squeezing never stopped.

You know what sucks about wheelchairs? They stop you from holding hands. Instead, I pushed her chair. I cannot remember the last time I held my mother's hand and just squeezed.

Today, I held my mother's hand for the very last time, through an old bar of soap, and then I let it slip into the trash.