I never stop being amazed by how quickly todays slip into yesterdays.
I recall clearly sitting on my Grandma Carrie’s lap when I was a little child. I loved to play with the soft, crinkling skin on my grandmother’s graceful hands, amazed by the deep blue veins lying just beneath the surface.
Back then, I never considered the stories Grandma’s hands told, but now that I’m a grandmother, I’m prone to pondering such matters.
Carrie’s hands cuddled eleven of her own babies.
Her hands wiped away bitter tears as three of those babies, as well as her husband, were buried before her 50th birthday.
Grandma’s hands kneaded dough for thousands of loaves of bread, as well as my childhood favorite, maple bars! I can’t even imagine how many sugar cookies those hands placed in her never-empty cookie jar!
Carrie’s hands embroidered, quilted and mended. They planted, picked, preserved and pickled.
Grandma’s hands never carried much cash. When I was a youngster, she gave me a birthday gift choice—either a one-dollar bill or a pretty pair of panties. I always chose pretty panties! I imagine Grandma’s hands sorting through a stack of little-girl underwear at the local J. C. Penney’s store, searching for the just-right pair. I doubt if my paternal grandmother ever enjoyed a frivolous undergarment.
In her final years, Grandma’s hands were gnarled and withered from the effects of a stroke. She died not long after I took my little daughter to meet her. Although she couldn’t speak, I thought I detected joy in her faded blue eyes during our final time together.
I don’t doubt that one day I’ll see my grandmother in the eternal home we’ll both enjoy, and I imagine taking her healthy hand in mine, strolling along one of those heavenly highways.
The photo below is one Ron took recently of my 92-year-old mother’s hands. I appreciate so many things about my mom, but what I value above all else is that I know those hands fold in prayer each day as she asks God, who holds our times in His hands, to watch over and bless her four children, their spouses, her ten grandchildren and 15 great grands.
When I was a little girl and teenager, I had lots of dreams about what I wanted to be when I grew up. Always, close to the top of my list was the dream of one day becoming a mother.
Being a parent is serious stuff. It’s not always easy. None the less, I wouldn’t trade the name, “Mom” for any other!
I’m writing today’s post a few days early. Mother’s Day 2018 hasn’t yet slipped into a yesterday as I type these words. I’m feeling extra excited this year about celebrating the day set aside especially for moms.
Saturday, I’ll be picking up my daughter and first-born granddaughter at the airport for a whirlwind visit. One of our first stops will be my mother’s house so Angie can see her grandma and Sydney her great grandmother.
Later, we’ll make our way to our daughter, Sarah’s home. I can hear in my heart the delighted squeals of our youngest granddaughter, Emmi, when she sees her auntie and cousin. After her initial delight, I imagine she’ll be asking, “Where’s My Kenzie?,” Emmi’s nickname for her second cousin, Mackenzie.
Sarah’s hands cradling her newborn daughter
For a couple days, four generations of mothers, grandmothers, daughters, and granddaughters will cherish the bonds of family and femininity which unite us. Our many hands will accomplish work so often assigned to women. Comraderie will bring joy and lighten the load of humdrum household tasks.
If you’re a mom or grandma—whether biological or ‘of-the-heart’—please accept my belated greeting. I hope Mother’s Day 2018— now today’s yesterday—held special memories and moments for you.
Blessings to all…