At the funeral home, as I walked up to the casket, imagine my surprise to find that it wasn’t Grandma in there! Sure, it looked a little like Grandma, but she was so relaxed – I’d never seen her when she didn’t have a story to tell or something to point out that she’d set aside to show the next visitor.
But it was her. I could tell by the hands.
Grandma never had what you might call beautiful hands, and it’s no wonder. Those hands had started working in gardens and doing chores when she was just a little girl. Later, she cooked, cleaned, “sewed onto gloves”, raised babies (and probably swatted a few), sewed coats, ran a household, rolled her hair (remember that?) and worked beside Grandpa making a life for themselves for many, many years. Too many pans of beans to count, along with pannycakes, family dinners, cookies, pies, custard, ice cream, venison roasts took their toll on those hands and left them scarred and twisted with arthritis. Imagine all the things those hands had done – every one of us, and a whole lot of others, have benefited from the hard work and caring that was part of the way she did things.
And she did it all by hand.
Her hands held Grandpa as he got sick, and I imagine, held him close as he died. But probably the biggest workout they’d ever gotten, and what probably caused the most wear and tear, was when she’d fold them in prayer and remember us all.
Thanks Grandma – I’ll always remember you AND those beautiful hands.
2 comments:
and she shall be greatly missed.
At the funeral home, as I walked up to the casket, imagine my surprise to find that it wasn’t Grandma in there! Sure, it looked a little like Grandma, but she was so relaxed – I’d never seen her when she didn’t have a story to tell or something to point out that she’d set aside to show the next visitor.
But it was her. I could tell by the hands.
Grandma never had what you might call beautiful hands, and it’s no wonder. Those hands had started working in gardens and doing chores when she was just a little girl. Later, she cooked, cleaned, “sewed onto gloves”, raised babies (and probably swatted a few), sewed coats, ran a household, rolled her hair (remember that?) and worked beside Grandpa making a life for themselves for many, many years. Too many pans of beans to count, along with pannycakes, family dinners, cookies, pies, custard, ice cream, venison roasts took their toll on those hands and left them scarred and twisted with arthritis. Imagine all the things those hands had done – every one of us, and a whole lot of others, have benefited from the hard work and caring that was part of the way she did things.
And she did it all by hand.
Her hands held Grandpa as he got sick, and I imagine, held him close as he died. But probably the biggest workout they’d ever gotten, and what probably caused the most wear and tear, was when she’d fold them in prayer and remember us all.
Thanks Grandma – I’ll always remember you AND those beautiful hands.
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