During the Korean war, there was a statue of Christ in a Catholic parish church in a small village that was destroyed. After putting the pieces together, they found the hands were missing. They debated whether to have new hands made for it, but the priest of the parish said no, it would remind the people that we are Christ’s hands in helping the needy and uplifting the fallen.
My mother served with her hands her whole life. In the last few weeks, my mom was alive, I would often hold her hands and reflect on all the gifts I had received from them throughout my life.
In my infancy, she changed my diaper (which she loved to remind me of at every chance she got), fed me and rocked me to sleep. In my toddler years, I was her little shadow, crying from the moment she left my sight to the time she returned to hold me with her hands.
During awkward adolescence, she was always there with a handmade snack after school and a hug. During this time, I also discovered that my mom played the accordion. I loved hearing her play my favorite Spanish number on her old accordion with fire in her fingertips and a flash in her eyes.
Then came the early teenage years with some rebellion mixed in. She still found ways to show love and patience with preparing my birthday dinners and cakes according to my preference, teaching me how to cross-stitch and knit, and driving me around Europe (where we lived at the time) as she expanded my horizons through travel.
Then came my later teenage years. While I was sick for long periods, she read to me, helped me as I labored with completing high school homework assignments, and took care of my needs 24 hours a day.
Through the adult years, her love and caring never waned and her diagnosis of ovarian cancer did not change this. She continued showing love through her hands even when others might expect only to receive and no longer to give. She took meals into needy families, had people over for dinner, and continued with life as normal as possible.
Now it was time to finish showing me how to use my hands to serve others and carry on her legacy. I helped her plant flowers in the springs, cook some of her favorite recipes, and learned how to operate a sewing machine, however on a very basic level.
It was my privilege to hold her hands in the last few weeks of her life and reflect. One of her last acts of service to me occurred on the Friday before she died. She was drifting in and out of awareness and had mostly stopped talking a few days before. I began to cry. Immediately she became alert with a startled expression on her face as if to say “What’s wrong, honey?” as her hands reached out to rub my head. I told her it was hard to see her suffer and that I loved her. That was the last time we really interacted. Her motherly instincts were there until the end.
I was lucky enough to hold these unselfish hands as her spirit slipped away. I will always miss having her right here with me, but I hope I can carry her legacy forward by helping those around me with my hands.
In conclusion, I would like to share a quote that has given me a lot of comfort in the last few days
My mother served with her hands her whole life. In the last few weeks, my mom was alive, I would often hold her hands and reflect on all the gifts I had received from them throughout my life.
In my infancy, she changed my diaper (which she loved to remind me of at every chance she got), fed me and rocked me to sleep. In my toddler years, I was her little shadow, crying from the moment she left my sight to the time she returned to hold me with her hands.
During awkward adolescence, she was always there with a handmade snack after school and a hug. During this time, I also discovered that my mom played the accordion. I loved hearing her play my favorite Spanish number on her old accordion with fire in her fingertips and a flash in her eyes.
Then came the early teenage years with some rebellion mixed in. She still found ways to show love and patience with preparing my birthday dinners and cakes according to my preference, teaching me how to cross-stitch and knit, and driving me around Europe (where we lived at the time) as she expanded my horizons through travel.
Then came my later teenage years. While I was sick for long periods, she read to me, helped me as I labored with completing high school homework assignments, and took care of my needs 24 hours a day.
Through the adult years, her love and caring never waned and her diagnosis of ovarian cancer did not change this. She continued showing love through her hands even when others might expect only to receive and no longer to give. She took meals into needy families, had people over for dinner, and continued with life as normal as possible.
Now it was time to finish showing me how to use my hands to serve others and carry on her legacy. I helped her plant flowers in the springs, cook some of her favorite recipes, and learned how to operate a sewing machine, however on a very basic level.
It was my privilege to hold her hands in the last few weeks of her life and reflect. One of her last acts of service to me occurred on the Friday before she died. She was drifting in and out of awareness and had mostly stopped talking a few days before. I began to cry. Immediately she became alert with a startled expression on her face as if to say “What’s wrong, honey?” as her hands reached out to rub my head. I told her it was hard to see her suffer and that I loved her. That was the last time we really interacted. Her motherly instincts were there until the end.
I was lucky enough to hold these unselfish hands as her spirit slipped away. I will always miss having her right here with me, but I hope I can carry her legacy forward by helping those around me with my hands.
In conclusion, I would like to share a quote that has given me a lot of comfort in the last few days
A Parable of Immortality
by Henry Van Dyke“I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength, and I stand and watch until at last she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sun and sky come down to mingle with each other. Then someone at my side says ‘There she goes!’
“Gone where? Gone from my sight – that is all. She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side and just as able to bear her load of living freight to the places of destination.
“Her diminished size is in me, not in her. And just at the moment when someone at my side says, ‘There she goes!’ there are other eyes watching her coming and other voices ready to take up the glad shout, ‘Here she comes!’
I know this was the case with my mom, that there were many people on the other side waiting, excitedly waiting, to visit her and to welcome her back into their arms. That gives me a lot of comfort and hope that I will see her again someday. And I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen
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