My Mother's Hands

My mom was beautiful, strong and full of life. She was a loving friend, wife, and mother; intelligent, funny, honest, punctual, and thoughtful. She was a great cook and an excellent housekeeper. She could be stubborn and opinionated, and she wasn’t afraid to tell you what she thought…about anything. She was generous, kind, patient, and compassionate, but never a doormat. She believed in God, and she believed in her children. 

Mom was protective, and defended her kids with the fierceness of a mother lioness. She did not always approve of our actions, but she always loved us unconditionally. We knew that, no matter how badly we messed up, we would always be welcomed home with open arms. We were the accomplishment she was most proud of. Mom lived with integrity and died with dignity, and I will miss her every day for the rest of my life.

This month marks the third anniversary of her passing. Around the time we lost her to lung cancer and Alzheimer's, I wrote this poem...

My Mother's Hands

My mother's hands wiped tears away

when I fell and skinned my knees at play

supple and strong; soft and smooth

my mother's hands could always soothe

My mother's hands hold the meaning of life

to be a good mother; to be a good wife

love is for sharing; life is an art

my mother's hands can lift my heart

My mother's hands grow wrinkled and old

I hold them gently to console

does she know that I love her? I hope she understands

that nothing can replace my mother's hands

My mother's hands lie pale and still 

tears flow freely, against my will

we bow our heads; the church bells chime

and I hold my mother's hands one last time.