It’s easy to take our bodies for granted—until the pieces and parts don’t work as well as they once did. Which makes me think of my mother’s hands. I can still visualize them as she went about her daily tasks even in her late eighties.
Of the things I remember about her hands, one stands out: the way she used them to hold what was important in that moment— babies, toddlers, teens, and us full-grown adults. Whether in laughter or in tears, hands were meant to hold, touch, and connect.
Aside from the people in her life, I would often see her hold laundry, clothes to be mended, fruits and vegetables to be canned and stored. On many occasions she held a mug filled to the brim with hot coffee, wrapped her fingers around the handle of her favorite frypan, or grasped a rake to gather leaves. And when she took a few moments to rest, she might pick up a pen, collect her thoughts, and share the latest newsy bits with a family member or dear friend.
As she aged, so did her hands, yet interestingly enough, I don’t remember my mother’s hands as old. Sore and stiff with arthritis, she still managed to use them although gone were the days when she could efficiently move through a task. All things took more time.
Maybe it’s because as I now look at my own, still strong and capable, that I see her long, slim fingers, hard at work. The day may come when it will take more effort for mine to do what I’d like them to do. In the meantime, I see them as a reminder of my loving mother; a part that not only serves a practical purpose, but also one to give and receive love and kindness.
Do I tend to take my healthy body for granted?
How do I feel about the parts of me that resemble those of my parents?
