by The Publishers
8/11/2019

Publishers' Note: Perhaps heartened by the publication of and encouraged by feedback received on other pieces we’ve published, Diane Nault graciously submitted the following piece to the Holliston Reporter this week. 

In her note to me, Diane wrote, “This particular piece is not a recent one but I have been reminded of it as I read through the terrible events in the news of recent days.”  No other introduction seems necessary.

Connections, by Diane Nault, 2015

“Hold my hand,” said the mother to the toddler as they crossed the busy street.

“Hold my hand,” said the hiker to his friend as they stepped into the cold, rushing stream.

“Hold hands,” said the minister as the couple repeated the vows to bind them together.

“Hold my hand,” she said as they watched a tiny heart beating on the fuzzy sonogram.

“Hold my hand,” said the ash-covered fireman as he led them down the smoke-filled stairs of the Tower.

“Hold my hand,” said the father as they huddled in the attic when the waters breeched the levee.

“Hold my hand,” said the nurse as she pulled the soldier to his feet for the first time.

“Hold my hand,” said the old man to his wife as they waited for the doctor.

“Hold my hand,” said the missionary as he walked the refugees across the border.

“Hold hands and close your eyes,” said the teacher as she led her children past the chaos in Sandy Hook.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me…”

Hold my hand.

Photo by Yvette Cain