Mom's Hands

On the beach trip for Jill’s birthday, the girls stretched out on lounge chairs: talking and reading. I rubbed excess SPF off on my towel and my hands looked like my Mom’s hands. My gut got all scrunched up in a good way. My hands were smooth, fingernails finally growing out from gel abuse. Transforming from dry midwestern hands with the ever present crack on the right thumb.

I had island hands! Like my Mom’s - nails never polished - just clean fresh hands. She has been gone for such a long time but I remember her hands when she taught my friends and I the Hukilau dance from her time living in Hawaii. Moving through the air with purpose and poise. Us, giggling and trying to follow behind her. My friends’ eyes shining and my prideful heart exploding like a wave against a lighthouse.

On my beach vacation I looked down and saw the perfect moons on my nails - just like hers. Looked up and saw the Caribbean Sea, far from Mom’s Pacific Ocean. My friends discussed important topics like the weddings coming up, men when they get sick, a recipe for chick peas, the miracle of Colace. And my eyes went as far as they could see - which must be miles, right? Miles of thoughts. Free here, on vacation, away from the bills and the news. Bouncing thoughts from those suddenly great nails to the great friends I sat with.

My eyes followed a tiny lizard instead of the conversation, who came up to my chair. Stopped and froze. I assumed he thought I wouldn’t notice him. He took a few more steps closer, apparently figured I was harmless.

I remembered my Mom saying “everything is God’s creature” when she caught us stepping on red ants. She held her hand out to us and walked us around the enormous ant hill. And I remember telling my boys that when they were about to kill a spider in the house.

“Bring him outside!” One of them suggested. And one of them picked up the spider with his tiny careful hands to transport outside. But the spider scurried so the next boy quickly held out his tiny hands right next to the first’s - creating a runway. And so forth it went. They made a chain of hands switching off and then running to the front of the line as that spider sashayed like a Victoria Secret swimsuit model from hand to hand. I opened the front door and all three ran out and watched the spider run off.

A discussion broke out about whether or not they should have put the spider on a leaf or bush. But the spider was long gone…no doubt looking for a way back into the house.

At the beach, the lizard sped off and I looked down to my book. But it was so bright there, I had to squint through my sunglasses to read. And as I turned the page I saw Mom’s hands again.

I have so much of my Mom. I have her back full of moles like a chocolate chip cookie, her love of people, her smile, her faith. I have her hands, which when I saw in the bright light made my gut long for her. For what I didn’t take. And for what I didn’t give. Gratitude slapping me in the face like a wave on Oahu’s north shore.

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Google this song and then try to get it out of your head!!