Fingers Intertwined

           I was preoccupied with a million things in mind this afternoon as Garret and I were on our way home from his therapy. I'm used to him sitting some distance away at the backseat of our pick-up truck. He sang his usual song that only he understands while being mesmerized by the light that passes through the giant acacia trees hovering over the streets. Whenever I try to hold him, he wriggles away from my grasp. So, I let him be. Instead, I prod him, "Garret, give Mama a kiss." He willingly complies. I do this constantly to remind him that I am with him and that I love him, hoping somehow, he understands. Perhaps I also do this to assure myself that there is a bridge albeit small that connects his world and mine. This is what I hold on to to get through the day. When he does give me a kiss, I am content. Still, I silently pray that the day will come when he will be the one to ask me for a kiss. But then, I shrug the thought away, reminding myself I should be grateful for all the little things. Garret has come so far.  As we were nearing home, me still pondering on what the future holds for us, I suddenly felt his hand reach for mine. This broke my reverie. He intertwined his fingers with mine. I looked at him. He was looking out the window and kept on mumbling his song. But his fingers still clasped mine. And all that went through my head was, "My little prince reached out and held my hand." With no words, frills or complexities, in that moment of a million moments in the universe, Garret did more than ask for a kiss. Perhaps he was reminding me this time, "Mama, I am here. And I know you love me. I love you too. It will all be alright. I looked at the sky, breathing in deeply the beauty of the moment and I clasp my son's hand tight, as if hanging on for dear life.