These hands belong to one of the most amazing woman I know. I use to sit and watch these hands make the most amazing baking creations, while they would pass me a spoon to lick in secret. These hands would let me knead the dough or add the sprinkles or ice the butter horns. Wondrous family meals, followed by snacks, followed by a little night lunch, just to make sure no one was ever left hungry, was prepared by these hands. As pages would be carefully turned on the family photo albums, these hands would be pointing out and sharing each new adventure. These hands would trace the line of the family tree sharing something that had just been found out. In the evenings as we gathered around the table, these hands would deal a deck of cards to play a friendly card game. These hands would cover her face when she got laughing too hard, especially when our golfing went so horribly wrong.
These hands could take a little paint and a canvas and with a few brush strokes turn it into a piece of art. These hands would work magic with a needle, thread and sewing machine. I saw pieces of limp, uninspired fabric transform into elegant masterpieces with the guidance of these hands. When I was a little girl I would sit in the corner of her sewing room and watch these hands at work and marvel at what would happen and I wished one day I could do only a portion of what these hands did. During summers these hands would embrace whatever craft I suggested. Decoupage, air brush painting, stencilling, ribbon embroidery, tie dying, rug hooking, needle point, or mop doll making. And those hands did each one with grace. These hands were patient as they guided me through my attempts at crocheting and knitting, putting in stitches and taking them out again and again. These hands taught me to sew and what was possible on a sewing machine. These hands taught me the finer side of embroidery, the even stitches, the perfect knot, the back sides being as neat as the front.
These hands were loving.
These hands were some of my most favourite to hold. They meant comfort and love and caring. These hands would hold on tight when there was a sense that I needed the extra support. These hands would wrap around me after a bad dream or in a warm embrace. They would brush my hair aside after something sad. These hands have cupped my face in a moment of despair telling me that I was her perfect princess, that I was just the way I was suppose to be and to heck with all those others.
These hands held my baby girl, loved my baby girl. I gifted my baby girl with part of her name and made it part of hers – Anne. Anne which means grace.
I held these hands for the last time on Sunday, when I went to say goodbye. A hard good bye. These are my Grandma’s hands. My Grandma said goodbye to us all and left for Home on December 22. I know one day I will hold these hands again, but until that day, I will hold onto each one of these memories and never let them go.