Squeeze My Hand and I’ll Tell You that I Love You.docVIP

Squeeze My Hand and I’ll Tell You that I Love You 　　Remember when you were a child and you fell and hurt yourself？ Do you remember what your mother did to ease the pain？ My mother， Grace Rose， would pick me up， carry me to her bed， sit me down and kiss my “owwie”. Then she’d sit on the bed beside me， take my hand in hers and say， “When it hurts， squeeze my hand and I’ll tell you that I love you.” Over and over I’d squeeze her hand， and each time， without fail， I heard the words， “Mary， I love you.” 　　Sometimes， I’d find myself pretending I’d been hurt just to have that ritual with her. As I grew up， the ritual changed， but she always found a way to ease the pain and increase the joy I felt in any area of my life. 　　But the most memorable ritual remained her holding my hand when I was a child and saying， “When it hurts， squeeze my hand and I’ll tell you that I love you.” 　　One morning， when I was in my late 30s， following a visit by my parents the night before， my father phoned me at work. He was always commanding and clear in his directions， but I heard confusion and panic in his voice. “Mary， something’s wrong with your mother and I don’t know what to do. Please come over as quickly as you can.” 　　The 10-minute drive to my parents’ home filled me with dread， wondering what was happening to my mother. When I arrived， I found Dad pacing in the kitchen and Mom lying on their bed. Her eyes were closed and her hands rested on her stomach. I called to her， trying to keep my voice as calm as possible. “Mom， I’m here.” 　　“Mary？” 　　“Yes， Mom.” 　　“Mary， is that you？” 　　“Yes， Mom， it’s me.” 　　I wasn’t prepared for the next question， and when I heard it， I froze， not knowing what to say. 　　“Mary， am I going to die？” 　　Tears welled up inside me as I looked at my loving mother lying there so helpless. 　　My thoughts raced， until this question crossed my mind： what would Mom say？ 　　I paused for a moment that seemed like a million years， waiting for the words to c