I lay awake vividly recollecting on your hands. So beautiful and elegant with every movement; aged with memories, collected wisdom. The hands that would sneakily dip into the cake mixture when baking with grandchildren, teaching us to always look for the sweetest moments in life. The beautiful penmanship created by these wondrous hands that I would study for hours alongside you and have very nearly mastered so that there is a little bit of you in everything that I write.
The excitement as you would slam your hands down onto the deck of cards before I ever got the chance to realise you had shouted “snap!” your face beaming at me, with the golden haze of a childlike joy.
Watching your delicate hands twist and shape your hair into the perfect style every single morning. Teaching me the importance of taking some time for yourself, there is always time for self care.
Supportive hands, accepting the paper tickets we created as you sat watching the 10 minute theatre production we had spent all day creating for you in the attic.
Your packed lunches on our explorations were always my favourite, the precisely cut finger sandwiches. Opening bottles of lemonade that I couldn’t manage, your hands hid strength as well as wisdom.
You were always my biggest fan, filling the room with cheers, clapping along with the music when I would show you my new dance routines. Hands that guide helpful corrections as you remembered your time as a dancer. Caring hands ready to catch after my shouting “nana! look what I can do” seconds before I would showcase my new gymnastics or breakdance tricks.
The elegant fingers tracing the faces on the masses posters in my teenage room, judging which band member you thought was the most handsome. Asking their names and which band they were in and proceeding to giggle at each answer as if “green day” was the most ridiculous name in the world. (there are far more ridiculous bands).
As a pointing finger faded from a scorn towards a misbehaving child to your way to communicate in your later days. Still so inquisitive and desperate to know what my hands had experienced. No, I am not engaged, I just wear a lot of rings. Moving across multiple cities coming home to you was always my favourite. My hands were now teaching you, sharing stories and swiping through photos together. But still your hands never lost their beauty. You held mine as we exchanged stories and your laughter filled the room as your hands gripped tighter around mine.
Your hands always held so much love.
You are always my favourite Lady.