Some things, many things from childhood have been relegated to memories that only surface when I have a photograph in front of me to spark them. It bothers me, because I'm a cherisher of moments. I love to stop and revel in the second that is happening right now and do a mental stamp of it in my brain, hoping against hope that it will stick good enough for me to pull it up again later in full clarity. Unfortunately, very few things have actually imprinted well enough for that to be the case. There is one though that is still so close in my heart that I don't even have to close my eyes to bring it up- my mama's hands. I can still feel them, small and firm and cool as they brushed my hair back from a fevered brow or wiped away a tear. I always loved it when she had a reason to gently caress my forehead.
Fast forward to now, my own little ones who too often take to their beds to heal; when I walk in to check on them or comfort them, each of them without fail take my hand and draw it to their face, as they nuzzle in I watch peace wash over them. I look down and realize, I have my mama's hands.
Happy Mothers Day to my beautiful Mama, whose strong, gentle hands have wiped so many fevered brows and tears and bottoms that I'm sure you lost count ages ago. You've helped to raise so very many children but I am thankful beyond measure that I'm the one little girl who gets to call you Mom. :)
My baby and my Mama