I look at my hands and think, “Whose
hands are these? They surely can’t be mine.”
These hands look more like my
grandmother’s hands. But how can that be? Even before her death at 87, she was always
old, so of course. her hands looked like an old person’s hands are supposed to
look. I am not old, am I? Or perhaps, I should ask, “How did this happen?”
Leroy still has plump hands. How unfair is that? As far as I can tell he cares
not what his hands look like. In all honesty I should note that I do not have
much plump on many parts of my body. Boney is the lay of the land.
One thing I know for sure is that
these hands have done a lot of things in the 70 years they have been attached
to the ends of my arms. They are doing something every day. Many of those
things are not of extreme importance unless I lost the ability to do that thing
for myself such as blow my nose or feed myself. I can also scratch or wipe
myself. It does not seem like much, but what a gift to be able to do that
without asking for help.
My hands also lift, move, or grasp an
object. I can put my hand into an area that is too small for the rest of my
body and retrieve something that is an arm’s length away. I can write this
letter as well as write when I use a pen and paper. Such versatility!
I can hug my loved ones when they are close
enough. I have cared for babies that entered my life. I can wipe away a tear
and comfort someone with touch. How blessed I have been to maintain these functional
hands.
Paula
