Time To Let Go

Many years ago, when my son was but a sprout, we collaborated on a special Father's Day gift. My contribution was a poem. His was a handprint, made with gold-coloured paint.

I put them together, framed it, and it has hung in my husband's office ever since.

Time marches on, as it is wont to do, and the son whose handprint was once so small is now 18 years-old--and off to a university far, far away come September.

In honour of Father's Day, and as a tribute to my husband, who is an awesome Dad, I thought I'd share my poem:

Daddy, here is my hand.
It helped you build a castle of sand.
It drew that picture you liked so much.
It lets me explore the world through touch.
It builds cities of Lego
And lets me blow a bubble.
And sometimes--but not too often--
It even gets me into a little trouble.
It can make a big mess.
It can clean it up, too.
I can eat by myself.
I can tie my own shoe.
Daddy,
Here is my hand so you will know
When to hold on...
And when to let go.