...was strong and sassy and all of about 5ft. She was a spitfire and was always shaking her fist or her head to let you know exactly where you stood with her. I loved that I never had to wonder what was on her mind, well not for longer than the few minutes it took for her to share it. I remember undertaking making a dress when I was first married, I had never done such a thing. She was such an amazing seamstress she made me feel like surely I was capable. I called her in the dead of night, probably 2 or so in the morning, sobbing because I didn't understand how to make a dart. She said with absolutely no hesitation "Now Sis, you can do this." and continued to talk me through a pattern she'd never seen woken from a dead sleep with the calm strength that she seemed to effortlessly possess. When Jeremy and I lost our first pregnancy and I was morose and broken she wasn't the kind of person I would expect to be a soft place to fall. She was strong and terse and direct. But, she came to me and told me of her heartache, of her loss. Once more it was "Now Sis, you can do this". Her strong hands comforting me again just like they had covered mine from cross country while making a dress.
I said all that to say that in the past few years I've noticed my Mom has started to have my Gramma Nichols hands. She, too, is strong and capable. She, however, has always been my biggest cheerleader, fan, and soft place to fall. Her hands can make a blank canvas into a superhero for a grandbaby. A skein of yarn turns into a blanket to warm your very soul because you can feel the love as you snuggle in.
I said all that to say that in the past several months I've noticed my hands starting to age. To not look as young as they once did. I know a lot of people talk about filling shoes. I only hope I can live up to the hands that have come before mine.
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3 comments:
So beautiful! And from all I have seen, I am sure you will
That was beautiful.
When I look at my hands I see my mother's. I told her this once, and she was sad because she said she didn't like her hands, that they looked old. I assured her, when I looked at my hands and saw hers, I saw the beauty!
I love reading your blog. I too have my Grandma's hands. At first it repulsed me. My hands are so ugly now and even when I put my rings on they still don't look nice, but I also look at them and think of where they've been, who's brow I stroked at deaths door, who's hair I've touched when first they were born, and who I may have put my arms around when life was getting tough for them. I love my hands now, no longer do they look repulsive.
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