Holding Hands

I found out about a writing contest and I started a piece for it. It is due this week. It might be a start of my writing journey. Here is the topic: "Do you have a story that begins with another person’s hand in yours? Do you have strong memories of the wrinkled hand of a beloved grandmother? Has your life been changed by the grasping hand of a child? The reassuring hand of a friend? We invite you to tell us a story about “holding hands,” whatever this phrase evokes in you. Do you see holding hands as a revolutionary act? An opening for a heart connection? A bridge across generations? A cure for loneliness? An antidote to violence? Can holding hands change the world?
Your story might explore themes of mentorship, connection, taboo, solidarity, violence, relationships, sensuality, family, love, friendship, healing, bridging difference, or anything in between. We encourage you to broadly interpret the theme.
Here is what I have so far. I am not sure I am done editing.

As my baby wraps his tiny little fingers around one of my fingers, I feel what true love is. Don’t get me wrong, I love my husband, but there is nothing like a mothers love. A mother’s love is hands that hold you up as an infant, and hold you up whenever you seem to need them.
For mothers day I sent an email to my Mom saying how much I love and appreciate her sticking by me, even in my not so brilliant times. The reply I got: “I loved you then, I love you now, and I will always love you!” How does she show that? With her hands.
Just recently, she held me up emotionally as she placed her arms around me to empathize with the frustration of a surprise C-section, and physically by showing up at my house almost every day for 6 weeks (even days I told her not to come)to take care of me, my house and my family.
Music can give strength in times of trial that no words can match. My Mom knows this. Magic happens when my Mom touches a piano. She has taught countless children (including her own) to play; not to make money, but because if no one learns now, who will play then. She is now older and has arthritis. It is not comfortable or easy for her to play, yet she is teaching my daughters (8 and 6) to play. Her hands are still lifting.
When I walk in my Mom’s house, I know there will be good food there. She shows her love for others by cooking. When I was in high school, she would stay up late typing my papers for me and then get up at 4:45am to make me breakfast, and read the scriptures to me (because she knew that was the only way I would get the scriptures and the food), then drive me to early morning drill team. Right now she has been cooking for a neighbor going through chemotherapy for breast cancer since that is one way she knows to love.
From holding hands with me as and infant to holding my hand now, a mothers love is a love that supports and sustains all through life.