Several years ago, maybe the last three or four to be specific, I started noticing subtle changes in my hands. It was one finger, then two and now four that have bent ever so slightly, then robustly, to the left or right.
I expressed my concern at my last annual checkup and my doctor tested me for RA, results were negative. Did that alleviate what I was experiencing? No, in fact it reminded me how much my hands now look like my mom’s once did. When I held her hands they were always, warm, strong and reassuring.Despite years of secretarial work and short-hand, which was common for women in her era of working careers, she never let on until much later her hands were a source of comfort and pain.
I feel fortunate to be able to garden, to tie my own shoes, to feed myself. As I watched a former in-law struggle with being able to pick up utensils and feed himself, I no longer take my hands for granted. Once strong enough to handle the daily task of stripping and prepping meat for a restaurant, once gentle enough to wipe away tears, my hands are slowly giving way to from straight to crooked, much like my life’s path.
My hands teach me daily what the transition from adulthood to maturing gracefully means. Some days they can mow, rake, dig and plant. Other days they cramp together on their own and force me to sit quietly and seek gentler pursuits. They encourage me to treat them with delicacy and stop taking them for granted.More gloves, more lotion, more massage, more intentional self-care.
If my hands deserve that much love, how much more do our souls deserve? – Love yourself each day, Kimberly
