daddy's hands...

Rummaging through the basement book shelves unearthed some long-lost, forgotten, treasures of my past. I came across 3 small notebooks that carried my thoughts, writings and other vital words, from long, long ago- from when I was a young girl. I paged through one of those notebooks and found this short essay I had written, at an un-known date. As I sit here, coffee in hand, I felt a need to share. It seems so long ago....

I scribbled the title of Daddy's Big Hands, on the top of the page...

All grown up now, looking back to when I was a girl. I can still picture Daddy's big hands. So strong.. So worn from car oil from the "other" new (old) car in the driveway. Blistered and cracked from pounding nail after nail into the new addition to our house. Red and raw from unsuccessful scrubbing and washing, after working hour after hour after hour.... I can still see the black oil residue in his cuticles and underneath his short jagged nails.

Those big hands were the hands that tucked me into my soft bed night after night. What a simple pleasure for a man.
Every so often when I glance down at my own hands, the shape of each finger, I see my Dad's hand. If only for a moment.
But one day those big, strong hands could not work on the old Chevette in the driveway. They could no longer pound nails, painstakingly, over and over again. Those hands can no longer do their job at the factory, day after day. No longer- as they had for over 40 years.

I can still remember when mom and dad came back from the doctor and my Mom told me that Dad had cancer- and only 9 months he is expected to live. What an earful for a girl about to turn 21.
A girl who needs her father to watch her become a woman!
As the months passed, so did his ability of those two strong hands.

When Dad was laid to Rest- I can still picture in my mind how my Dad's strong, big hands looked as they clasped his rosary for ever- for the last time.
I thought of the past and of the future. Then I looked again at his hands.
Those hands won't ever hold my future babies soft delicate bodies- brush the hair of our family dogs-hold my hand as I walk down the aisle.

I feel that a person can tell a lot about someone from just looking at their hands. A story could be revealed in a matter of seconds.

Dad has been gone now for man years. He may be gone physically, but I will always remember Daddy's strong hands.