My mother's loving hands
Night after night, she came to help me sleep, even long after my childhood years.
I don’t remember when it first started making me a little angry — my mom’s hands pushing my hair that way. But it really made me uncomfortable, for they felt rough against my young skin. Finally, one night, I shouted at her, “Don’t do that any more. Your hands are too rough!” She didn’t say anything, but she never did it again.
Years later, I missed my mother’s hands and her goodnight kiss on my face. I’m not a little girl any more. My mom is in her mid-seventies, and her rough hands are still doing things for my family and me.
Now my own children have grown up .It was late on Thanksgiving Eve.As I slept in My mother's loving handsmy bedroom, a familiar hand ran across my face to push the hair from my head. Then a kiss, ever so softly, touched my brow .
Taking my mom’s hand, I told her how sorry I was for that night I shouted My mother's loving handsat her. But my mom didn’t know what I was talking about. She had forgotten it long ago.
That night, I fell asleep with a new appreciation for my mother’s caring hands. And the guilt that I had carried around for so long was nowhere to be found.