Hers are the first hands that held mine. As I look at her rings and the diamond she wore for more than 50 years, I tremble with the knowledge of all that her hands have done. My mother raised children, drove us back and forth to school for an hour, twice a day, every day for twelve years and gave out candies to children who came to shul. She told us to sing louder, she used her hands to point out the place in the Chumash. She showed us how to set a table and buy balloons, her hands excitedly decorated and photographed every milestone. She traveled and bought souvenirs for her children and grandchildren. She emailed stories, ideas, photos and information around the world. As a court reporter, her hands recorded the truth, the dictionary of words she created and reached for justice. Her words truly gave testament and witness to the truth.
When I was in trouble, her hands picked up the phone and held on, to hold me in her thoughts and her heart. When I was in doubt, she held my hand and gave me her perspective. She went with me to pick out a wedding gown and handled details. She held my babies, as quickly as possible after their birth, and never let go. She traveled the world and wrote it down to share with the universe.
She held my father’s hand as they walked down the aisle at grandchildrens’ weddings and hugged great grandchildren. Her hands hold our family together even when she cannot move them. She carries us with her and we hold her in the hands that she gave us: open, loving, caring, generous, and charitable. She taught us to always reach out to others and be willing to give. She gives with a warm hand, while she can see us spread our hands to her, and hold on as long as able. We hold on to her forever and always. I will reach to her when her hands can no longer touch me. The finely manicured hands look like hers. I will hold on to the memories and stories, hand them to my children and grandchildren, and reach out to her forever. But her hands, her heart, her soul, and her stories will never leave me and I want to hold on to her memory forever.
My mother established deep roots, created branches of our tree, and her memory and spirit will reach out always.
In memory of my mother BDG
10/24/42 – 4/27/13