The Hands That Hold Her

If there’s one thing about my physical body that reminds me of my mom more than anything else, it’s my hands.

They’re not fancy or dainty, but they’re hers. They’re mine. They’re ours.

A few days ago, my seven-year-old nephew asked to take a picture of my “big belly” (his words, not mine!) So he grabbed his mom’s phone, and I placed my hand gently on my pregnant belly as he snapped the photo. I didn’t think much of it at the time - just a sweet moment between aunt and nephew.

Later that night, my sister-in-law sent me the photo he’d taken and added: “This photo... your hand looks JUST like your mom’s.”

I stared at the picture and smiled. “I know, eh?” I replied. “I wrote once in my blog about how my hands remind me of hers.”

She responded, “So similar! I didn’t realize how much!!”

There’s something really special about that… about carrying such a strong, visible reminder of my mom. Especially now, as I grow a life inside me and navigate what it means to become a mother without my own mother physically here.

I look at my hands and think of all the things her hands did: They made meals, rubbed backs, held tissues, gave hugs, wrote notes, zipped coats, held mine.

These are the same kinds of things my hands are going to do for my baby.

It’s a comfort I didn’t know I needed... this quiet presence of Mom in my own body.

My hands are not just mine. They are hers too. And soon, they will be my child’s - the hands that comfort, guide, protect, and love.

P.S. I hope to come across a photo of my mom's hands one day so I can place these 2 photos next to each other. But for now, the similarity is strong in my memory, and in my sister-in-law Jenn's, too.