Mammie's Hands

When growing up, there are often things in our lives that take hold of our minds, bodies, or hearts. For me the thing that comes to mind is Mammie's hands. Mammie is my mother's mother. At this time, she is failing in health. Often this is the time when family members begin to find the things that make them put things into perspective. Mammie's hands do that for me.

Growing up, Mammie's home was a place that I spent a lot of time. In her home, I watched Christmas stocking after Christmas stocking appear like magic from her knitting needles. There were cups of tea or soup held in her hands, as well as thousands of homemade cookies baked by them. I recall books being read, and her fiddling with her watch.

Mammie was nurse by trade, I do not know how many lives she touched, but I do know that her Christmas card basket was always full of sentiments sent across miles to a woman that laid a kind hand on some one's heart. Ministers, neighbors, people that she helped along the way. Ah, retrospect...

One of the things I remember is how eagle like her hands were when I was growing up. Swift and strong, like talons they could grab your hand or snatch something that wasn't allowed. I especially remember being a preteen and having her grasp my hand in a parking lot. I was mortified and embarrassed. The grip was tight and even hurt a little. The kind woman that others knew was not always so kind to those she loved. I have to say that out loud, because to me we need to pull back the scabs to allow the healing to begin.

Mammie still wears her wedding ring, on her pinkie, but, please, do not attempt to remove it. In this recent hospitalization, it had to be taped to ensure it was not lost. What a statement to those around her. I grew up thinking that my grandparents were not compatible. That there was something missing in their lives. I was wrong. For a woman to feel that strongly about her wedding ring, over 20 years after her husband's death, it is inspiring to me. It makes me think that there is so much to those around us that we miss.

I told my sister that I wanted a photo of Mammie's hands. The way they are now. If I can keep a picture of them in my head, maybe I can keep her being in perspective. I have watched them for years, no longer to able to bake cookies or knit a stocking. (Ruth has the very last of this legacy to be given.) She can no longer pick up a pen to write to people in far away places, though somehow she was able to sign DJ's recent graduation card. Instead, of strong talons, Mammie's hands have become soft and supple to the touch. They appear to be gentle and in them I can see where others might have found kindness.

I know one thing that I will miss. I am not 12 anymore, so I am no longer embarrassed to reach out and take my grandmother's hand. And I know that Ruth will tell you that my hands are like talons (if she knew the word) when we are int he parking lot. I love her, and I want to be with her and keep her safe. I want to hold on as hard as I can to keep her small. Maybe, just maybe, that was the reason my grandmother grasped my hand so tightly that day. I was growing too fast and she wanted to hold on tot he little bit of my childhood that she could. I may fool myself, and that is okay, but that is how I want to remember Mammie's hands.