Last night as I was getting ready for bed I looked down and saw my mother’s hands. My hands. They make things, as hers did. They work hard, as hers did. They are beautiful, in a craggy sort of way. Just like hers. They’re good hands.
Today is her birthday. I miss my Gig, but I look around and see her big old family moving along in the world, and I know she’s in all of us. Hands, heart, smile.
In a few days my sisters will come for a visit, and it’s a sure bet that we’ll look at each other and laugh at our own Gig-ness. Hands, hearts, and smiles,