Today I was surprised to find that, somewhere between the front door, and the connector bridge to downtown Charleston, my mother's hands found their way to the ends of my arms.
The sun was streaming through the windshield and there they were. Wrinkled a little. Elasticity gone. Skin thin and..... were those a few little spots of discoloration?
Since Mama died a few years ago, I can't say that seeing them there, stuck where my own hands used to be, was an unwelcomed find. I don't have alot to remember her by. She lived according to her philosophy: "Don't love something that can't love you back."
That meant THINGS. She died owning a few inexpensive pieces of jewelry. An incredibly old television (are those RABBIT EARS???). And whatever clothes would fit into her suitcase. And since she took turns visiting us all- for two years at a time- she didn't need alot of things.
She had us.
and we had her.
and now I have her hands.
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There are a lot of things Mama had that I would have liked to have. Her ability to keep a plant alive longer than 2 days, her metabolism certainly, her capacity for sewing things with no pattern...but not her hands. You can keep those, if they show up on my wrists anytime soon you can rest assured I will be sending them back. I read her Witchcraft book too...............
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