Those Hands; My World


 

 

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The hands flashed in front of me. Aged with spots, their blue veins pushed up through the papery thin skin. And there I sat,  the room around me muted, hyper focused on those two hands before me. Warmth and a touch of panic rose within my chest. I tried to glance away, to flight rather than stay and fight the feeling. But, alas, I just could no longer bear to look away. Could not tear my eyes away. So I let myself go. I embraced the sight before me, let the warm feeling spread as my eyes explored the hands further.

Yes, somehow those were familiar hands. Those hands were hands that were always nicely groomed with fingernails just the right length, not too long and not too short. Those hands were always busy. In motion constantly while she talked, when she cleaned, when she played with  the babies. Those hands were often covered with the soil that she loved. Those petite hands I remember holding as a child, as a teen, as a young woman. Those hands, oh my, those hands.

My eyes wandered over those hands, drinking them in, halting on the wedding/engagement ensemble adorning those fingers. That sweet warm feeling reached clear down to my toes. The panic slipped away.  Those rings exchanged before I was even a thought, always gave me peace and wonder as a child. Those rings established that she was my mother, mother of my siblings, wife of my father. She was ours forever. Peace and security were mine when those golden rings did flash.

Those hands, that finger, those rings, my world, my security.

The noises came back full force and the lights seemed to brighten and there I was still in that room with people all around me. Those hands, those hands did not belong to my mother after all. Those hands of my friend and co-worker. Yet, for a few moments on this busy day, those hands caught me off guard.  Those hands brought me simple sweet little memories and feelings I had forgotten, had really never even realized I had. I will always remember her hands.

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2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Mi
    Jul 04, 2016 @ 21:47:31

    Poignant. Beautiful. Grateful for all she was. Blessed we called her our mom.

    Reply

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