The Hands of the Women in My Family

Women’s hands hold entire worlds.
They hug, heal, create, raise – and keep growing along the way.

My mother, who raised me and cared for me, sits here knitting a tiny white sweater for her granddaughter’s first winter. A mother’s hands are hands that never stop giving, even when the children are already grown.

My sister, many years younger than me, holds my stories gently in her hands – with empathy and acceptance. Small in age, huge in heart. Only recently I told my mother that my sister is the greatest gift she and my father ever gave me.

And my sister’s daughter, a tiny two-year-old who stretches all our hearts to the point of bursting with love. Her hands clutch a slice of summer fruit, and her whole future is still ahead of her. She is funny, clever and so beautiful, and I honestly can’t remember what life felt like before she was born.

My life is richer because of their hands – and I hope theirs are a little richer because of mine.