hands
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I stood there in the dark silence of the chapel with the stain glass face of Christ looking in at the pews. His hole pierced hands showing an anguish I felt. No one was here, not in this space or time, yet I sounds of a movie floated above me from the back wall. …
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I remember Grandma DeKezel, her colostomy bag full and oozing. I remember smiling and chattering and easing her discomfort of being dependent upon my hands. I remember her talk of sex and the loathing she had when Grandpa would touch her – until she was 30. I remember the smile…
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Her hands were bony and strong. Not the hands of youth with its demand to have power and control. No, her hands were strong from living life and a “hold onto me” strength. Those hands held onto me through the entire benediction. At the end there was that extra squeeze. I give it too. It’s…
Great Joy 