My Mother's Hands

This past Sunday was my mother's birthday. I intended to write a post about her that day, but I didn't. In fact, this past week, I was too wrapped up in myself to even think about my mother, which was wrong. Here's an ode to my mom: the most inspirational woman in my life.

I watch her hands rest on the keys, unsure of what to write next.
The same hands that have held mine.
The hands that soothed a feverish forehead.
The hands that guided my own, when learning to sign my name.
The hands that come in from the garden, with dirt underneath the nails.
The hands that create dinners that comfort the body and ease the soul.
The hands that fold in prayer every morning.
The hands that write with no fear.
The hands that wipe away tears.
The hands that do so many things that go unnoticed.
These hands do so much for me.
They are the hands of my mother, my mentor, my friend and, sometimes, my enemy. But, I love her more than anything, and am happy to celebrate her birthday with her.

May God bless her and keep her all the days of her life. Amen.

P.S. I tried to get a photo of my mother's hands, but couldn't get the darned computer to work. So no photo.... Sorry!