Squeezing hands and saying goodbye

Squeezing hands and saying goodbye

David Trinko dtrinko@limanews.com - 11.26.2007
It’s really nothing more than placing one piece of skin atop another and applying pressure.
But it’s difficult to think of another human interaction with the same power as squeezing a loved one’s hand.
It means you’re safe even if you’re uncomfortable when I squeeze my daughter’s hand as we walk into unfamiliar surroundings.
It means she appreciates the care I’m giving her when our newborn squeezes my hand during a feeding.
It means there’s something funny to see but I can’t say what right now when I squeeze my wife’s hand in a crowded room.
But sometimes it just means it’s OK to say goodbye.
My grandmother, Mary Jacobs, had a rough night at a hospital about a week ago. In a misinterpretation of hospital rules, the much-loved 93-year-old matriarch of my mother’s family went without any family support in her room for one night.
Her daughters and son promised my ailing grandmother she wouldn’t be left alone again as she progressed toward death. For the remainder of her time on this Earth, someone would hold her hand.
They lived up to that promise. Each day, 24 hours a day, for nearly a week, someone held at least one of her hands. Perhaps it was one of her children or grandchildren. Perhaps it was a longtime friend. Sometimes it was someone my relatives didn’t seem to know that well, but that person felt touched enough by my grandma to visit her in her final days.
By the time I arrived at her hospital in suburban Chicago quite late Friday night, she’d been through dozens upon dozens of hands. Now unable to speak and sleeping constantly, people kept saying how unfortunate it was she couldn’t communicate anymore. But she did communicate, just as I would with my daughter or my wife in their circumstances.
When I made an uneasy joke to lighten the tension, she squeezed my hand to show her appreciation.
When I prayed with her, she squeezed my hand to show her faith.
When I talked about how hard it was to say goodbye, she squeezed my hand particularly hard. It was OK to say goodbye.
Late Saturday night, I heard the news that Mary Jacobs, better known as Grandma to dozens of lucky children including me, died. I think the woman behind the kind eyes left earlier in the day, as her hands didn’t include those communicative squeezes anymore.
Her funeral will be today, and we’ll all be there to do what grieving children and grandchildren do. Whenever I’m overcome with the grief, I’m reminded of that final squeeze of the hand. It’s the one that said it’s OK to be sad. It’s OK to miss her. But most importantly, it’s OK to say goodbye.
And it’s OK to give my own wife and children an extra squeeze or two of the hand, just to show them I care.