Hold Tight

Some vivid childhood memories that I have with my mom are the situations when she would hold my hand when we cross a street.  My young brain was instinctively programmed by my mom that the starting point of crossing the street is by initially grabbing my then little hand.

Her grip turning firmer to my young little hand is the signal that we would have to commence striding a street no matter how narrow, busy or dangerous the crossing would be.  I consider this simple yet distinct memory as a symbol and representation of my mother’s care, love and attention.  Though the childhood experience of crossing a street with my mom seem too plain and too basic, I also consider her firm grip as a way of conveying that while crossing the street, I would be just fine.

one of the last two photos I took of me and Nengkoy

On the last day of my mom on her deathbed, I was the one who was gripping unto her hand.  It was me whom she was with when she crossed not a busy highway, not a narrow road and not a dangerous street.  And while she crossed over to Joy and Forever, as if to symbolically reciprocate back her care, love and attention, my hand firmly gripped hers.  I then gently whispered and conveyed to her in a reassuring manner that everything and every people she would leave behind will be just fine.  This too would be one of the most vivid memories of my life.