My mother’s hands

My mother’s hands. The hands that nurtured me, cared for me. At times I wish I could be held again as though I were a child. My safe place, in her hands. My most trusted person. She would never betray me. Soft, warm, comforting hands.

How I yearn to be little again to feel the warmth and kindness of my mother’s hands. My protector, my nurturer. She taught me kindness and love. Her gentle hands cared for me when I was sick. My mother’s hands had the ability of making everything so much better.

My mother’s hands had healing power. A cut or scrape felt better with a touch of her hand.  Now I hold her hand, it’s so hard to let go, just a little longer. How do I let go? She’ll never let go.  She eases my pain with her hands.