Hands and Arms

I had a dream last night. Dale was in it. We were prisoners in a Russian prison, and we were unable to speak to each other. We were close, but not close enough to touch. I wanted to run to him and have him hold me. I miss being held. I woke feeling sad and lonely. Why couldn't it have been a dream with joy and fun, and running barefoot through a meadow with autumn leaves falling all around us. Granted, Dale wouldn't have run barefoot through a meadow, leaves or not. He was definitely a shoe man. It was a weird dream, disjointed and vague. That's how I really felt, disjointed. I didn't like it. I just wanted to be held.

When I got dressed I put on a sweater of Dale's. It still smells of his cologne. I buried my face in the sweater, breathing in, slowly. 'Why couldn't we at least hugged in the dream? Why couldn't I have at least held his hand.

When Dale and I would hug, he would always say, 'we fit just right'. We did. He was just enough taller than me, that when we hugged I fit perfectly under his arms. I could wrap my arms around his strong, muscular back, feeling the definition of each muscle, knowing it was because of hours, years of exercising. His firm, rounded shoulders, metal like biceps, embraced me in gentle strength. I miss that. A lot.

Wearing his sweater today, didn't make me miss him more, I guess it should have. Somehow, it gave me a strength, a confidence to do what needed to be done, like balance the checkbook and make a major financial decision, both something I willing would have left in his hands. His hands.

Dale had great hands. They too were strong from years of working out. Years of karate, weight lifting, push ups, all contributed to his amazing hands. His hands were wide, and when we held hands I could comfortably only hold 3 of his fingers in my hand. His hands engulfed mine in a way that was always giving me a sense of protection. I knew he would always take care of me.

I don't know how things will be in heaven. Will we really wander around talking to all the saints like we always say we will? I don't know. I think we will so be in awe of our Savior, we won't be concerned with anyone else. Yet, if we will be familiar with those in heaven who have preceded us, I hope I will have a few hundred years just so that I can be held by Dale, to walk those streets of gold holding his hand. Maybe then I can get him to run barefoot though a meadow.