My Mother"s Hands

My mother's hands

I remember the day I saw my mother's hands
I mean really saw them as they were
She was about the age that I am today
I had remembered them as smooth and gentle as a child
But on this particular day as she handed me the dress
That she had so lovingly made for my prom
The dress was cream satin with pink rosebuds
I was suddenly aware of the true cost of this dress
And the price she paid for the many garments that had come before
My mother had the hands of a seamstress
She could sew, mend, or crop together any article of clothing
She could piece together quilts in the blink of an eye
My mother had the hands of a furrier rough and calloused
She spent many years lining fur coats in exquisite satin
She shaped the hide of an animal into the outerwear of the wealthy
This is how she made a living and how she put food on the table
This particular day, I noticed the arthritic knuckles
This particular day, I saw each line of wrinkle and wear
This particular day I saw the love with which those hands had stitched
Every age spot, every callous, and every stiffened joint told a story
A story about building a life and a future for 5 kids
Those hands have long been laid to rest but the legacy is immortal

To my children, I hope that one day you can say
My mother's hands built a foundation for us
She molded a world of possibilities and dreams
My mother's hands belonged to those of a worker
And that you always remember, the grace of being a worker