Hands

Four generations of hands intertwined with unbreakable love and history. How I miss these hands- both the chubby littles, that are now grown, and the old fragile, that moved on to another world. All hands hold stories within each wrinkle, scar, freckle, and heart beating vein. The touch of a loving hand doesn’t need words. It speaks through the act of kindness and compassion.

Saturday Story: Hands

My nonna’s hands. I’d give every penny to feel them on my back as she sung me to sleep every summer night as a child. I watched her cupped palms roll the most perfect polpette hundreds of times. With her hands she taught me how to hold and feel ingredients and respect food. Through action her hands taught me lessons she didn’t need to say. These are my nonna’s hands.

My mamma’s hands. Strong as a bear and gentle as a butterfly. These hands define grit, hard work, determination, and oceans of selfless love. The hands that brought me to life. The hands that baptized my newborn soul in our Sardinian sea. I watched her hands create recipes and feed the masses. Her hands held me in times of absolute dispare. Her hands continue to lift me higher every single day as I navigate this life.

These are my mother’s hands.

My hands. (This is a hard one for me to write). These hands are growing, creating, sharing, teaching, loving, and feeling every day in this world. These hands are vulnerable yet full of steadfast determination and ambition. I fought deep internal battles with them. I prayed fervently to bring forth miracle children. These hands help wipe the tears off my students and my own children. I want to touch souls across the world and show them they are loved and valued. These hands crave connection. These hands are at the beginning of greatness to come…

These are my hands.

My sons hands. Chubby, squishy, soft, new, innocent, adventurous, mischievous. The hands of infinite potential. The hands of our future that time will unfold. The hands I hold and pray to keep safe multiple times a day. I teach these hands. I feel responsible to guide these hands to show kindness, compassion, understanding, dedication, and loyalty, and to show love to ALL with each touch and deed. These are my son’s hands.

What are your memories with loving hands? Share with me. Share with us.

Sometime hands don’t show love. That is sad and difficult. Those people abuse the gift of our hands- the capacity they attain to create and love in this world. I am sorry if hands ever hurt anyone reading this.

Baci,

️Elena