A Mother’s hands are built from bone, flesh and love.
She will hold you as an infant, gently put you on her knee.
Your first experience of pure, unconditional love.
Her swift hands hold you when you cry and wrap you up in warm blankets.
She puts you in your highchair for your first delicious bites of apple or carrots and your smile reflects back to her that you feel her love.
Her hands are so busy, out in the world…lifting, fixing, writing and expressing themselves to others.
Yet at the end of the day when she comes home to you, her hands embrace you
and remind you that you are okay and that she is with you.
Oh, how her hands move during the holiday season…gumdrop cakes, chocolate chip bread and Christmas cookies
all call upon her hands to press, push and pull.
Her hands don’t stop until the end of the day when they gently wash her own face,
brush her own teeth and finally pull the bed covers up.
Her hands are freckled and cracked but adorned with rings and jewels holding memories and adventure.
Her hands have traveled far and wide, felt traumatic loss and wiped away many tears.
Her hands so delicately tried to adjust her hair or her shawl at the end of her days.
Her hands were tired.
I will miss her hands.
The hands that held me at birth, the hands that comforted me as an infant into adulthood
and the hands that finally said “You must let go”.
In my dreams I see her hands…busy, holding, touching and forever giving.
A mother’s hands will never be forgotten.