My Mother's Hands~

Today I looked at my hands and saw my mother’s hands. The bumpy joints, no longer smooth, telltale signs of arthritis. I saw the wrinkles and crepe like skin with bulging veins, telltale signs of many years and much hard labor that they have endured. The tips having neatly, although far from perfectly, manicured nails painted with polish in an effort to dress them up a bit as a reminder that they are the hands of a woman.

But more than just the physical appearance, I saw hands that have painstakingly knitted hats and shawls and headbands to be donated to cancer patients or homeless shelters. Hands that have created dozens upon dozens of cookies, cakes and pies and delicious meals to make a loved one’s day special. Hands that have volunteered during the darkest of times in a community to try to help restore things back to a more normal state. Hands that have labored to earn money to be in turn given back to a local cause with no expectation of recognition for their effort.  Hands that have performed all sorts of physical labor, created works of art, played musical instruments and clapped a million times in joy and appreciation. Hands that write with a distinct style, an autograph that is clear and unmistakeably mine.

The same hands that have wiped away tears, traded back scratches and back rubs, demonstrated how to perform all sorts of tasks, guarded secret whispers, contained laughter at inappropriate times, held another person’s hand to comfort them, rested on backs in a show of support, and reached out to pull someone up when they were down. Hands that created the locking clasp of a hug, hands that raised high in the air to question something that had been said or done when no one else dared. Hands that held and lovingly stroked the fur of a beloved pet as they left on their final journey into heaven.

And the hands that held the hand that gave them life as that hands life slipped away. They are hands that make me proud that they have accomplished so much. They are indeed, my mother’s hands. And I wear them with honor. I can only hope that mine will make as positive a contribution to the world as my mother’s hands.