Dying Hands

As fun as it is to post the dating dramatics and shopping in my closet outfits, my writing (which honestly has always been more for my own therapy than if one person read it or not) lately has been to release and process the fact that I am facing my grandmother’s passing.   
It’s probably a bit morbid to think that this is what I asked for. No, of course I didn’t ask for my grandmother to go through this that will end in her passing. She is my favorite person I have ever known and I could fill up so much of your time bragging about her. But I did ask for a slow down and a reset. I did ask for more time with my family and to bring some appreciation and perspective back into my life. And that is certainly what is happening. It’s not easy. And I am not saying my train of thought is for you to agree with. But I am saying that even in the saddest of times, there is a lesson. You get to choose whether you grow from the experience and learn a lesson or whether you wallow or even go backwards. I am choosing to learn. 

  
I am fortunate to be able to spend these last moments with her. I feel even more fortunate that even in the little sleep we are getting, that I am getting alone time with her in the later hours after everyone has gone home. 
Tonight, her hands are telling the stories. 

  

These hands. My goodness they have been through some stuff. 
They have worked themselves to the bone as a farmer. 
They have cooked no less than 10,000 of the best meals you have ever had. 
They have stroked my hair as a little girl while I laid in her lap during church and listened to my pop teach. 
They have been firm on my butt maybe once or twice. 
They have wiped tears and been the best comfort when my parents were mean to me 😝
They have prayed while the heart ached over the loss of her forever love. 
They have been the kindest hands I have ever known…..

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