mom's hands - plump with short nails - once bone thin - now puffed and almost burying the wedding band she has worn for more than fifty years. the fingers are beginning to take on strange angles as arthritis bends the joints and takes flexibility they once had. not yet seventy is too soon for hands to give way to pain but her hands have worked hard for much of her life - they paid the price she would offer freely again. as a girl those hands cared for the house and her little brother while her parents worked to pay the bills. they transitioned seamlessly into caring for her husband and then one child after another until there were four. they cooked and cleaned, washed dirty faces, baked birthday cakes, sewed clothes -- creating our simple and lovely world. too often her tired hands worked far into the night sewing the prom dress that we never appreciated enough - finishing the easter dresses for herself and three pouting daughters. those hands ached as they finished her annual christmas surprises hidden each year in her bedroom closet behind old shoes and daddy's work clothes. the nails never grew - the hands never resting from her mission to make a perfect safe world for children she loved beyond life - hands fierce in their attempts to shelter us from mean words and unfair teachers and thoughtless friends.

how do i thank this mother who has given her life and dreams and youth to make my life better?

i never understood anything before my children were born, never knew the depth and life cracking power of love until i looked into the faces of my babies - watched them grow into beautiful children - struggled with them through adolescence - and now stand on the periphery as they transform into adults. the feelings washing over me are so powerful sometimes i think i'll drown in the need to protect and give and wipe away all that might tarnish such beauty and promise. i understand my mother's tears as i have lightly moved forward - away from her - and the deep melancholy of knowing i have done the most important thing i will ever do and now i am almost unnecessary. i understand why mom hummed from room to room one christmas as she cared for three sick adult children - how she might have cherished one more opportunity to place a wet wash cloth on a fevered forehead, deliver jello and saltines with a little crushed ice and coke.

my mom's hands have never tired of caring for her children - as i suspect mine never will for my children. the love carries on from generation to generation as the hands instinctively reach out - fully open - offering everything without reserve - crooked with age or not. no hands, however straight and young and elegant could ever be as beautiful as my mom's plump and slightly bent hands - overworked from the business of loving her children.

with all my heart - thank you mom - i love you