Mom’s Hands

Of all the things I remember most about mom, it is her hands. She had strong hands, I remember the crease and lines. As a child I would hold her hand and trace the lines of her veins down to her fingers and around her knuckles. 

I have my moms hands, her heritage lives on in my hands. Strong and pronounced knuckles. I often follow the line of my veins to my fingers remembering my moms hands. 

Her hands that held me when I was a baby, the hands that held my hand when I was learning to walk. Her hands that hugged me when I was in pain and the hands that made me dinner. 

When I look at my hands I’m reminded of her and then think of all the ancestors that have passed down these strong loving hands. 

My grandfather’s hands were huge, when he would give me hugs his arms would wrap around me and the warmth of his hands would radiate through my clothes and warm me to the bone. The memories of my grandfather hugging me are some of the best memories I have. 

My biological grandmother passed away before I was born, but my other grandma “Min” had tiny hands. I remember painting her nails when I was younger. Her hands were manicured and well kept. She painted and gardened but her hands were always well kept. 

There is something special about a person’s hands, they harness energy, put words to paper, embrace the ones we love (with help from arms), hold precious items near and dear to our heart. 

Our hands say so much about us, what heritage do your hands hold? 

~Candi C Carver