Hands

I was looking down at my hands the other day, observing the aging process that has happened to them. I was immediately reminded of how much they look like my mother's hands. I remembered how I use to trace the veins on her hands, much like Ann-Marie traces the veins in mine. Whenever I am missing my mom, God gives me words - sometimes in the form of a poem, sometimes a story. Darrell laughs at me because I have to grab whatever piece of scratch paper is nearby and put the words onto paper before I lose them. Following is the poem that I wrote after observing my hands:

I look down at my hands
and what do I see?
Hands that look similar
to the ones that once held me.

The veins and the lines
crisscrossing once smooth skin,
I would not change this aging process
erasing the memories within.

I watch as the smooth skin
of my daughter's hand reaches for mine,
what will she remember
about our together time?

Closing my eyes
feeling smooth against rough
memories flood in,
new memories made by a single touch.

This is a picture I took of Ann-Marie after I took the picture of our hands together. I am so thankful for each of our children, each one unique in their own way. I am also thankful that I have a girl, because often she somehow links me with memories of my own mom. As always, by being open and honest, I hope that this blog entry helps someone else dealing with a loss.....along with the fact that when I am transparent with my own feelings, I continue to heal in a new and fresh way.