Cindy

Droog

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September 17, 2007

Like My Son, I Wanna Hold Your Hand

At 14 months old, my son’s new thing is always – and I mean, always – wanting to hold mommy’s hand. Even if it’s just to walk around the living room, or into the backyard, both of which he’s been doing for about four months now perfectly on his own.

It could be because this is his primary age for separation anxiety. He doesn’t cry or fuss when dropped off at daycare, and on most days when I pick him up, he rather rambles on over to me instead of running and jumping into my arms. Holding my hand when I am there must be his way of saying, “Right now, you are staying with me!”

And while it may require a lot of leaning down, and make for some slow, awkward walks, I am honored. I know that I want to hold my husband’s hand as often as possible because of the connection it brings. I know that when my grandmother was in the hospital with her cancer diagnosis, all she wanted was for me to hold her hand.

When hands are held, very few words are required. And considering the only words he says with clarity are Dad, ball, up, apple and car, I imagine holding hands simply works for him. He doesn’t need to say anything.

It got me to thinking about all the times and reasons I’ve held the hands of others. After all, holding hands doesn’t have to mean I love you. It can just mean I’m here for you. I need your help. I support you while others might be coming down pretty hard on you. Or, hey, everybody makes mistakes, but all is forgiven.

There have been times when, as inappropriate as it might be, I wouldn’t have minded holding hands with a coworker. Just to say some of those things above. Just a few short months ago, for example, I was reassigned and asked to leave a team of people that I have truly enjoyed working with. They have a long road ahead of them, and leaving the team was extremely difficult for me. I’d much rather hold all their hands, so we could move forward together.

So, as I left the room, I said – yes, aloud – “I love all of you!” and I meant it. This is a group of very sharp people. Good listeners. Thorough and attentive. For me, all they had to do – and did – was sprinkle a great sense of humor on top – and bam – it was love!

I guess I’m easy.  

But just like with my son, the people and the process of getting things done is just as – if not more – important than what actually gets done. So, while a brisk, healthy walk around the block would take me about five minutes by myself, it takes more like 20 with my son. It’s not brisk. It’s not even exercise. But he considers it an important journey – not necessarily because he needs me there, but because he wants me there.

And if even one of my coworkers feel the same way, then I am doubly blessed. 

Of course, separation anxiety – for kids and coworkers – can take a more desperate, scary turn. It can include crying. Temper tantrums. I am evidence of this, as according to my Mom, I would sit under the kitchen table and hold my breath until I turned blue and passed out if left with a sitter. 

And at work, there are people who simply cannot let things go. Their version of crying is sending e-mails at all hours of the night. Their version of temper tantrums involves being a complete control freak over projects, and therefore, the people that work on them. And of course, their version of breath-holding and passing out is their “it’s got to be my way or no way” attitude.

Thankfully, I’ve found a place to work where that kind of coworker is few and far between. And even more thankfully, my son handles separation anxiety a lot more productively than I did. Either that, or he just hasn’t learned how to hold his breath yet!

© 2007 North Star Writers Group. May not be republished without permission.

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