Language of Hands- Farewell

ED NOTE: For many months you have read as I have said goodbye to my son- today this blog shares with you a farewell from a son to his mother.

Mom, I’m sitting by your bed. It’s late at night and you are too tired and too sick to talk to me. So all I can do is hold your hand and try to comfort you.

Your hand has become so delicate; fragile with age and care. And I remember. . .

This is the hand that cradled and caressed me as a baby.

This is the hand that supported me as I learned to walk, and picked me up when I fell.

This hand washed and fed me when I couldn’t do it for myself.

This is the strong hand that reassured me as it led me to school that first day.

And it is the loving hand that welcomed me home again.

This is the gentle hand that cared for me in illness.

This is the firm hand that corrected me when necessary.

This is the hand that taught me to share as my brothers and sisters joined the family.

And it is the creative hand that built a safe, loving environment to nurture us all.

This is the hand that taught my hand to find middle C on the piano and then encouraged me to explore the world of music.

This is the hand that lead me out onto a stage for the first time introducing me to a life passion for theatre.

This hand released me when it was time for me to fly on my own–even though it hurt her to do it.

And this is the hand that kept a constant stream of encouraging, reassuring letters flowing to me no matter how far apart we were.

This hand has always been there to accept, support, welcome, congratulate and love me through all the trials and joys of my life.

This is the hand I kiss as the tears stream down my cheeks. I only hope that this hand can feel all the love and gratitude that I am trying to pour back into it tonight.

Thank you for being my mother and for doing that job so well.

Dave Cotton -a farewell to his mother.

Hand and the Orb- by Chris Ritchey