I wonder how my Grandmother Strother got in my body and replaced my hands with her own.
I used to push her veins in and/or roll a Matchbox car over them as if they were roads. This was obviously before video games were created.
But I never seriously considered what my hands would look like as I aged.
As soon as I got to the office this morning, I Googled how to plump up your hands. The fillers that are available sound painful, and probably aren’t covered by insurance. Apparently, Anthem doesn’t understand the angst my wrinkled hands are causing me.
I considered doing some extra work to pay for the plumping, until I reached for my pen to write down a thought. In that moment, I realized that my hands have worked hard for the past 54 years. Maybe I was becoming a Mean Girl to my body – judging it, rolling my eyes, talking about it on the internet. So, I looked for a better story.
Why My Hands Rule
They held my pencil during sixteen years of school, developing that bump all writers used to have on their first knuckle.
They washed dishes at Bonanza, served burgers at Busch Gardens, and shook the hands of clients at my first radio sales job.
They were the bed into which I rested my head after an especially fun party.
My hands held both my babies and the wrong baby. They petted my cat, and were bandaged after the cat bit me repeatedly.
They stated “I love you” to the kids as they got on the bus to go to school.
They have come together in prayer, and met before my heart when I Namaste’d after a hot yoga class. They also caught me when I collapsed after my hot yoga class.
My hands have typed blogs and books and articles. They have clapped at concerts and been thrown into the air victoriously at a Redskins game. Not too often, but occasionally.
There’s something about the power of hands.
When my dad was passing away, I held it together until his kidneys shut down and water filled his hands. He had hands like his mother, and I have hands like him. And when I was down, dad would hold my hand and make me feel safe.
Hands are our point of connection, the part of us which waves hello and holds on as we hug goodbye.
Hands are how we stroke the face of those we love, and grab our children before they run out into the street. They are how we clap to music, and punch our siblings (sorry, Linda and Mark).
Maybe We Should Sing Our Body Electric
If you’re being a mean girl or guy to your body, perhaps you should sit down and thank it for all of its hard work.
For many of us, our bodies have been running for years on Starbucks and Coke and Pringles. They’re pretty miraculous.
I think I’ll wait a while on the hand filler. Perhaps I shouldn’t inject my hands with needles and plastic stuff.
Because they have earned every wrinkle, and every vein.
Here’s to the hand. May you forever wave.
13 comments. Leave new
Two thumbs up for a great reminder to be kind to ourselves, and grateful for the bodies (and their various parts) that have gotten us this far.
Thank you, Roxanne!!
Donna: another heartfelt perspective on embracing where we are today, thank you. I think of how many boxes I packed/unpacked, or suitcases I’ve handled throughout my career and my hands always were ready, willing and able. I consider the freckles and sun spots and yes, age spots signs of wisdom
Kathleen – ah, the packing up and the unpacking of life. You’re so right . . . our body is always there to help.
What a terrific analogy! I think we are all guilty of this way too often, myself included. I think appreciating what our bodies have accomplished over the years is such a wonderful idea!
Thank you, Rena!
Beautiful Donna!
Thank you, Lisa!
i love this tribute to hands. I often held or stroked Momma’s small delicate veined hands and would think of how feminine and tiny they were. I’d remember all the times they stroked my hair or my back to comfort me. At 65, I have her hands. My hands are small and delicate and veined.
They have aged skin covering them and many years of good use showing on them. They held my Momma as she left this world. I look at my hands every day and I see Momma. I love my old lady hands.
I spend a lot of time with my aging mom and find there’s been a role reversal…the hand that reaches out for help, comfort, companionship…is no longer me seeking hers, but my precious mom. As she tightens her grip, she says almost every time, “This is what I’m always looking for!” I look at our hands, linked through time, and see the beauty, strength, gentleness etched in every wrinkle.
Beautifully said, Cas. Thank you so much for sharing.
I’m slowing developing my grandmother’s hands too and appreciate how much hard work it takes to get them there. Although I do wish to be eternally youthful, I celebrate the hard work and knowledge I’ve done, and developed, along the way, my hands are evidence of all of that.
Thank you for that comment. It truly is amazing how often we notice the hands of those we love.