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Reflections On My Mother's Hands
by Candy Statts
01/14/07
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My daughter, Jessica, wanted to do something special for me on Mother's Day. She made an appointment at a local nail salon and invited me to go along for a mother/daughter "let's get beautiful" day.
As the manicurist was applying the acrylic to the nails on my left hand, I was reflecting on my mother's hands.
My mother is a very attractive woman. Always well-groomed and neat; she keeps her hands flawless. They are always pretty.
My autistic son, Duane, once remarked about my hands, "Mom has old hands". My son's remarks, although few, are always on the mark. Looking at my hands I thought they were hopeless. But the manicurist patiently worked on until 2 hours later, my hands actually looked presentable.
I wish I had my mother's hands; the hands that took care of my Grandmother. My Grandmother said that when they amputated part of her foot because of diabetes, that my Mom would massage lotion into her foot every day. She tole me that it was like my Mom was massaging pure love into her through her hands.
I wish I had my mother's hands; hands that reached out to an errant child or grandchild when they made decisions that weren't the right ones. Hands that would console a autistic grandson because he couldn't get us to understand his way of communicating. Hands that opened up the door to communication for him because of their love and patience. Hands that held him for hours at night so he could sleep. My Mom, patiently showing him over and over again how to say a word; she got him to say his first word since the onset of his illness.
I wish I had my Mother's hands. Hands that would willingly give to "Toys for Tots" so that other children would have the Christmas that she gave her daughters and grandchildren every year.
I will never have my Mother's beautiful, physical hands but I only hope and pray that I will have her spiritual hands. If it wasn't for her prayers and love, I know that more than one of her daughters would not have survived.
I Love You Mom.


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Member Comments
Member Date
Kelly Fisher 14 Jan 2007
What a great story! I cannot tell you how many times I look at my hands and think of my grandmother! She died when I was 10 years old, but I find that when I look at my hands - it's one of the few things I remember about her! Blessings!




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