I woke up this morning at 530 am.  No – No – No – this is a mistake.  Go back to sleep!  Then all of a sudden, Peter reached for my hand….and I fell back to sleep with him holding my hand.

As I sit here typing this post, sipping my coffee, at 845a on a Saturday morning — my mind takes a trip back to moments in my life that make me choke up with emotion.

I remember being a little girl, going Santa Christmas shopping with my Dad — and how he held my hand as we walked through the parking lot to the music store where we (he and I) helped Santa buy my brother’s bango for Christmas.  That was the year, I “knew” Santa.

I remember being in the hospital the days my daughters were born, and holding their tiny little hands.  Counting those tiny little digits as they held my hand for the first time.  I don’t think I have ever (to this day) felt anything softer.

I remember the day Peter and I got married — and how he bent down on one knee to give Caitlin and Erin each a little pearl ring – a symbol that he would love and protect all of us for the rest of his life.  Then we stood there at the altar in Kirkpatrick Chapel, holding each others hands — all 4 of us, as we began the rest of our lives together.

Kisses, and hugs, and even making love — they are special, but NOTHING (in my humble opinion)….beats holding hands!  #100happydays (22/100)

Ciao for now….Diane