Mamma’s Hands

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'Old hands' photo (c) 2009, Geoff Wong - license: http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

I remember my mother’s hands.  I remember them down in the hot soapy water washing the dishes.  I remember them out in the fields planting the pumpkins or helping with the harvest.  I remember those same hands that were scratched and dirty during the day, fixing our meals at night as we were getting ready to settle in for the evening.  I remember her putting her hands to my forehead to see if I had a fever and gently rocking me to sleep if I wasn’t feeling well.

I also remember once Mom telling me that she didn’t really like her hands.  They were starting to show some age.  We’d been working on something that left stains on our hands, and none of our hands were looking very good or clean at the moment.

Our hands tell stories of where we’ve been.  I shudder to think of what my life would have been like if Mom’s hands had been smooth and untarnished.  The lines and scars come from years of work, and play and love.

I’m so thankful my mother is still here with us.  I’m thankful that her hands are still here for us to hold.  They’re still here to check to see if we have a fever.

And I know there aren’t many things that Mamma’s hands can’t fix.

Hope you celebrate your mom every day of the year!

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  • Lovely.

  • Jeremy Lail

    So true. If our parents hands had been smooth and free from calluses we would not be the people we are to. I couldn’t help but think of the old country song Daddy’s Hands while I was reading this. Great post.

    • Now you’ve got me singing Daddy’s Hands. I’m okay with that. It’s a fantastic song! Thanks so much, Jeremy, for stopping by.