One of the ways to my heart is through my hands. There is nothing more fulfilling and surprisingly calming for me then when my children reach out to hold my hand. There is something about feeling the love, warmth and innocence of a child you love with everything you are, grasping your hand so tight. It makes you want to stop time and never let go. Much like a spouse or partner’s touch, although a different kind of love, that can settle the most difficult of internal storms and struggles… for me anyway.
So we have established that I am a bit of an emotional individual… it’s been said that I may have one ovary, which would explain my sensitive and overly emotional personality… I know there are more gentlemen out there like me, Closet Emotionalists is what I will call us.
I had a moment last night with my eight year old mini-me Evan. He is my little clone (for those that haven’t seen him), not only in looks, but in personality. He’s a charming, funny, inquisitive, sensitive and rather dashing young man (remember he looks like his dad)! We were finishing his homework reading and he slipped his hand in mine and whispered “love you dad” in my ear…cue the water works.
That single moment brought me back to the most memorable moments of becoming a dad. For fathers (and mothers) out there, you can relate to the first time you look at the tiny hands that belong to the incredibly life changing, fragile, beautiful being that is now your responsibility and love for the rest of your days, and the joy that fills your soul is un-explainable.
As I starred at Evan’s hand, I still felt this enamored delight, curiosity and amazement at the creation and intricacy of the movement, shape and its complexity… also being in the health care field and knowing the internal structure and connection of the hand certainly makes my mind get a little more involved.
I often think about my great grandfather and my grandfather’s hands. The one thing I remember so vividly is how big those hands were, yet they were the most gentle hands I have ever felt. They were weathered and stained from years of hard work, callused from a lifetime of providing, yet were tender and loving when, as a child, I would slip my small hand into theirs and get lost in the enormity of their love.
Hands can tell stories…
I begin to wonder about my hands; as someone who works each day using my hands to heal, comfort and provide relief of pain and stress to clients, what will people see in my hands?? My hands are beginning to hurt, starting to show the wear of almost fourteen years of daily use. Not only at work, but at home, with my kids, friends and family.
When I am old(er) and my kids are grown, and my grandkids put their hand in mine, will they be able to tell a story of love, kindness, healing and hope?? I wonder if the choices we make now will effect the way they see me? My recent struggles have stained the way I look at my own hands and how I view myself. Will my children feel just how much they are loved and how I wish I could freeze time to when they were eight years old again, holding my hand tight, telling me I am loved… Will they feel just how much they are loved, even when I am at my lowest and life is hard??
Hands can tell so many stories of the life we’ve lived and the hardships we’ve endured.
What will your hands say about you??
cell : 7058682616 … I am always here if you need an ear! We all have our struggles, joys, good times and bad. You are not alone!