Mom's Hands

Mom's hands. 

When I was a teenager there was a dishwashing liquid commercial where a young teen girl like myself compared her hands to the extremely young hands of her mother. Because of her mother's continued use of the product it was impossible to tell the difference between the two. 

I used to take great pleasure comparing my mother's hands to mine, except my Mom's hard working hands showed their age. I would pretend to be in the commercial and playfully ask, 'Whose hands are whose?"

Because my Mom passed away so early, I never really witnessed her aging.  I wasn't prepared for dimply thighs, creepy skin, spider veins, age spots, and the pull of gravity which basically leaves you saying, "What the heck?"

I was in line at Walmart the other day, and I looked down at the age spots on my arm. I always have to remind myself that that arm is really mine. I couldn't help but remember my mother. It's interesting that over forty years have passed, and I can still find myself with a lump in my throat when I think about her. The bond between a mother and a daughter knows no bounds. I sure feel lucky today sharing that with my own daughter.