It's been many years since my Mother passed...
Today I pause and think of all she did as a Mother.
She never made a decision that didn't account
for how it would effect myself & my brothers, even in the end,
she was thinking of how we would go forward.
Memory is a funny thing,
but for me,
one of the things I can always picture is my Mother's hands.
What makes that memory so strong;
her touch from those first moments of life,
her hands holding so steadily as I was learning to walk on my own,
both figuratively and physically,
always watching them at work or play
(cooking, cleaning, sewing, crafting, driving, reading,
playing cards, drinking coffee,
helping my dad, paying the bills, even smoking).
Watching them throughout the things that filled our day
in and out, day after day, year after year.
Images of specific moments fade in and out
but in all the things that filled our life,
I can always remember my Mother's Hands.
I wish I had this image of my own Mother's hands...
but instead they are of another young mother, very special to me.
My brother's wife Denice...
they represent the touch I remember,
that many remember...warm & comforting memories.