Two Years

Last night I was sitting in my living room watching an old movie and knitting. I looked down at the project in my lap and suddenly realized: I have my Mom's hands.

I can't tell you how many times I studied Mom's hands when I was a child. I used to watch her create amazing things with her hands. Delicious meals, beautiful clothes and toys, thriving gardens all came from the work of her hands. In church I would play with the rings on her fingers, twirling them around and around. I would trace the lines on her palms and the ridges on her nails. I could tell when she had been working on hand quilting a project because her finger nails would be bent bend from pressing into the thimble.

As I looked at my hands last night, I saw those same ridges on my finger nails and the creativity flowing from my finger tips. Of all the gifts Mom gave me, the desire and skill to create is my most treasured.

It's been two years today since she left us, but I'm still occasionally caught off guard by her absence. There are times when I think "Oh, I have to call Mom and tell her..." before I realize that I can only talk to her in my heart now. I wish that I had saved an old voicemail message, just so I could hear her voice one more time.