What Do You See?

Photo by Judith Garcia via Flickr. Used under Creative Commons license.

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What do you see?

When you gaze upon her hands?

Do you see gnarled fingers, knuckles swollen with arthritis?

Veins in varying shades of violet crisscrossing beneath translucent skin?

Allow me to describe what I see.

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I see the hands that helped to raise me,

And the arms that were always open to offer a hug.

In those hands, I see strength, resilience, my safe harbor.

I see the hands that raised four children,

Despite many struggles, they always provided for those she loved.

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I see the hands that soothed many a fevered brow,

chased away the nightmares, wiped away the tears.

I see the hands that nursed my Pepere and cared for him when he could no longer care for himself.

They stroked his brow and held his hands in theirs until his final breath.

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I see the hands which cared for eight grandchildren,

And I'm reminded of all the troubles endured in the process.

Those unwavering hands placed many a Band-Aid upon a scraped and bloodied knee.

I see the hands of the woman who treasured and played with her great-grandchild,

With an abundance of patience and love.

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I see the hands which lifted each of us into her lap.

Where she'd share with us her hopes for the future,

Or regale us with stories of days long passed,

I see the hands which pulled us in for a hug

And a reminder that we were oh so loved.

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I see the hands that gestured while she spoke,

Stories part-French/part-English, with a mixture of who knows what.

I see the hands which held mine as her songs lulled me to sleep.

Songs I'll hold forever in my heart,

With improvised lyrics, I'll cherish for keeps.

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I see the strength in those hands which endured oh so much.

Throughout nine decades they tirelessly tended to loved ones, old and new.

Cooking endlessly every single day; Holiday and ordinary too.

Those hands excelled at multitasking;

Minding hearth, home, and family.

Always the perfect hostess through and through.

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They are the hands that held mine throughout our struggles,

Lovingly holding her rosary to see her through.

They are hands that waved around with laughter,

Tears of happiness were not so rare.

They are the hands that guided me,

And I had hoped they'd always be there.

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They are the hands that I clung to when she was slipping away.

They are the hands I kissed goodbye on that cold April day.

They are the hands that I feel resting upon my shoulders when this world feels like it's too much to bear.

They belonged to my Memere, who now resides up above.

They are the hands that were filled with so much love.

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