My Mother's Hands

 

I did something yesterday I haven't done in years. I had my nails done. It was done on a whim after getting my hair cut. A treat, I suppose. But I noticed something as the lady filed, buffed, then polished my nails.

My hands looked more like my mother's than ever.

My mom had beautiful nails. She kept them shaped and always had a beautiful nail polish applied perfectly. I admired them frequently, and grew up wanting to have hands like hers. 

Recently I was standing at my kitchen counter eating my lunch. My husband walked past and said, "You remind me of your mother when you do that." I smiled, because an image immediately popped into my mind of my mom leaning on her kitchen bar, eating her lunch or snacking and watching the television in her dining room. Almost daily she did this. 

I have found myself saying and doing things in the past few years that make me want to look over my shoulder to see if my mom is standing there. Little things, some not so little things, and internal things. I will say to myself, "Why are you sitting in the dark?" of "Is it too early to put on pajamas?" Two things she said to me regularly when I visited.

I was talking to my sister soon after and mentioned this. She told me things she had begun to do and say that reminds her of our mom. I said I almost believed that when our mom passed away, the heart of her splintered into five pieces and embedded itself into her five daughters. We all have pieces of her inside of us and have begun to mimic her actions and attitudes, words and even thoughts. 

Of course, that didn't happen. She wasn't a fairy, like in Peter Pan. (If you ever read the original, you may know what I'm talking about.) But I've listened to enough adults who have lost parents to realize that my sisters and I are not unique. This happens frequently, and is fairly common.

Parents, in this case Moms, are a very integral part of us. From the earliest core memories, they play a role. We see them, hear them, and in many cases even smell them. They were our comforters, providers, teachers, role models. When we lose them, no matter our age, we lose a tether, an anchor, and we feel adrift. Lost. 

I think the attributes in us that perhaps were always there, stand out in stark relief in the absence of our parent. The bits of them that were alway a part of us were not noticed before because their presence overshadowed the minuscule facsimile of them within us. 

Of the five girls in my family, I am not the most like my mom. The baby sister holds that honor. I might come in fourth. On a really good day, third. She was amazing. I aspire to reach second. Highly unlikely, but we should have goals.

 All that to say, she did impact me. She did influence me enough to mold my behavior to where I have thoughts, patterns of speech, attitudes toward others, and even life aspirations that are pieces of her. 

I don't believe anyone will look at my hands and say, "Oh your hands look like your mom's." But how wonderful if someday, someone could say of me, "That's something your mom would have done," Those are the hands of my mom I want to have, I suppose.