For some reason, when you lose someone, your mind recalls them in isolated details: their hair, their voice, their eyes, their laugh. Maybe it’s because that’s all the heart can take – missing one detail at a time. Today, I am missing Emma’s hands.
I have lots of memories of those hands at work: knitting, baking cookies, playing the flute, striking a pose, gracefully punctuating a dance routine. But one of my most vivid memories of her hands at work is from when she was a baby. If she was being held by someone other than me or her dad, she would extend her hands out to us, curling and uncurling her fingers to try pull us close and saying “come-a, come-a.” Each time she folded and unfolded those tiny fingers she tugged on my heartstrings.
There is nothing quite so sweet as the soft, round, dimpled hands of a baby or toddler. My sister calls them cookie hands, because they look puffed up, like freshly baked cookies. Emma’s hands stayed small and soft and rounded all through her life. As a teenager, she would sometimes look at her hands with disdain and say, “Look at these tiny baby hands” to which I would respond, “Those are you cookie hands. I love your cookie hands!” and bend over to give them some big, loud smooches. How I wish could kiss those sweet little cookie hands again. Come-a, come-a, Emma Jane.
She and I used to joke that she had insulator hands, or heater hands. They were always so so warm. Whenever I was cold after coming into school i'd cuddle up to Emma and ask for her hands.
ReplyDeleteWhen I miss my grandmother, for some reason, I often think of her hands.
ReplyDeleteYour Emma sounds really special. Thank you for sharing her story with us.