As I say goodbye to my mom, I can not help but reflect on the acts of love her precious hands had over my life.
I am sure my Mom’s heart felt delight as my infant hand gripped her finger moments after she first met me.
Her hands grabbed my little hands as I tottered while taking my first steps.
Her hands wiped my brow when I was sick and needed comfort.
Her hands helped buttoned my dresses and ties my shoes.
Her hands made countless meals that no restaurant could compete with.
Her hands held mine as I timidly walked into school that first day.
Her hands taught me to look upward to a Father that is always there.
Her hands held mine as I waited in fear as the doctor stabbed my arm with that needle I so feared.
Her hands gently put bandaids on skinned knees and elbows.
Her hands reached for me when a bully from school said ugliness and held me close.
Her hands braided my hair countless times.
Her hands worked countless hours taking care of others so she could take care of us.
Her hands took care of her own mother as her mother needed care.
Her hands turned pages of her beloved books passing that love on to me.
Her hands worked so hard, to pay for the endless things she blesses us with.
Her hands clapped with pride as she watched me graduate.
Her hands held me tight before she released me into the world.
Her hands wiped tears from my face as the world hurt me at times.
Her hand adjusted my veil as she watched me leave her home into my own.
Her hand held the phone close to her ears, covering the distance between us to be part of mine.
Her hands held with joy her grand babies.
Her hands continued to be filled with babies, wet diapers and wet kisses.
Her hands made eggy rice, curries, dosas, carrot cakes that seemed to disappear as soon as made.
Her hands welcomed little bodies into her bed for snuggles and cuddles.
Her hands welcomed the now big bodies that still found their way into her bed.
Her hands clasped together always praying for protection for all the hearts her hands held close every day.
As her hands aged, their beauty only increased. Each line or scar a memory of times those hands loved. As her hands now rest in my hands, as I hold her hands, knowing it is time to let go of those hands that loved me so much, I feel tears falling that her hands can no more wipe. As I release the hands that have always been in my life, I feel strong hands from above gently wipe my tears with the promise of my hands being reunited with her loving hands, some day soon.