My Mother’s Hands

I was watching a mother hold her son on her lap the other day and I noticed her hands. She had her hands around his torso as she held him on her lap. It was casual and unexceptional. Just a mum holding her son on her lap.

Yet the sight of her hands doing this simple action brought up feelings from my own childhood. The memory of my mother’s hands when I was a child. When I was young, I remember looking at mum’s hands and thinking how beautiful and grown-up they looked. Long slender fingers with defined knuckles and I remember seeing the veins raised on the back of them. I remember how beautiful her wedding and engagement rings made her hand look. While I can recall how her hands looked to me as a child, I actually remember the feeling I felt more.

Safe and secure.
Belonging and Loved.