My mother's hands

My mother’s hands

A while back I was showing pictures of a family gathering to a friend.  She looked back and forth at the pictures remarking and noting on family resemblances.  As I was the dark haired (once upon a time..) and the bespectacled one of the group, she had difficulty placing me precisely, but at one point she looked as I turned the pages of the album and noted, “You have your mother’s hands.”

Later in the day I examined my hands but did not see the long slim, elegant fingers and beautiful skin of my mother’s hands. In a way I was relieved ,but the song “You need hands to show someone you love them….” popped into my mind, and I began to think of all the ways my mother's hands reflected her love and generous nature.

These were the hands that shared with others. If mum had ten pounds, (UK sterling) she would have shared it with each of us - so everyone got 2 pounds. Then she probably would have rethought and given most of the other two away after considering that your needs were greater than hers. These hands looked after the family finances, shared everything, and made sure that everyone was generously looked after even while she went without herself so that we could have all the necessities.  It was in her nature to give and provide even in later years when we had all we needed… and more; it may have been in the offer of cups of tea, a packet of biscuits,  or small gifts that were a small token of love and friendship. If you helped her in any way, you generally received some gift of appreciation in return. In short, these were the hands of a truly selfless person who lived for her family. There was nothing that she would not do to help others in the same way that she welcomed everyone into her home.

These were the hands that held and hugged and rocked her children, her grandchildren, and great grandchildren both to help out or to bring comfort and care. All of 27 years ago she even made the trip to the States on her own to help with her new American grand-daughter - a trip that she needed more than a little coaxing to make as she was not one who liked to travel far beyond home.  But she made it through two New York airports alone and down to the Washington area––a long and arduous journey into the unknown––and no small feat for this homebody. As her children grew, these hands nurtured and taught lessons for life - like to put your coat on, wear a scarf round your neck, and to always carry an umbrella.  (Not daring to disobey, to this very day I keep one in my car at all times!) Like most mothers she subscribed to the belief that unless she told us something, we would never learn it for ourselves so these little life lessons went on.....well.... for life!  We probably all had several admonishments just in the past week.  While dad told her we were big enough to look after ourselves, she never quite trusted us with the wisdom that age is supposed to bring.  She told us we were always her children - a fact that aggravated us at times as we gained families of our own and passed into middle age and even (I hate to say it…) slightly or well beyond.  Then we passed on her lessons to the tune of her familiar voice ringing in our ears even as we proffered the same advice, much to the frustration of the younger generation no doubt, but what could we do otherwise!  If we know how to be caretakers, it is because we had an excellent and generous role model.

These were the hands that accompanied us on the first trips to school, to new experiences and to university to assist us in exploring the new surroundings and to coax us out into the wider world, loathe as she was to watch us go and gain that independence. At the same time they made sure that we had our lunch, enough money for the bus, and, of course, a clean hanky!! They also made scones and tea or hot chocolate to welcome us home from school at the end of busy and damp days, and hugged us tight and waved good-bye as we headed for more distant shores.

These hands also saw that she was dressed elegantly, and they made punctilious lists for shopping and Christmas. They also penned notes in a variety of notebooks that chronicled the significant minutiae of life’s events. In the past couple of years and much to our surprise, these frail hands that struggled with a mobile phone managed to learn how to use an iPad, because that’s what dad had done and it was her way to keep in touch with life beyond her walls.

So while I turned my hands over and over to inspect them to see if there was any similarity – I found none.  But almost with relief I thought that while it might be flattering to have my mother's hands, I realized that having her hands would set a standard and carry a responsibility that I could not possibly live up to.

Jill Moore J 2014  (March – September 24 2014)