goodbye practice day 3: hand studies

walking with a kid usually means holding hands. one big one, one itty one.

sitting down with a granny usually means holding hands. one big one, one itty one.

i dont think theres been any time that i can remember, that we had same sized hands, ever.

it just went, in a blink, small to large, then large to small.

one day, my hands were just larger. and stronger. granny used say that i should try to keep my hands long and pretty, like a good piano player. i always worked with my hands, and ended up having a big palm, where the base of the palm is bigger than the rest of the hand.

granny worked her needles and scissors with her hands, a seamstress who fed 5 little composite family- her, my dad, her sister in law, and 3 nephew/nieces. so many stitches and loops, buttons and zippers, she wouldve touched and touched again.

and one day, i realized that her hands are teeny.  her rings start to fall out- then she would wrap strings around the ring to buff it up. and her nails became hard, and slow-growing. outer treebarks.

today she held my hand. her, both hands, me, just one hand.

yesterday when i teared up, she reached to wipe my tears. 

i dont remember when was the last time she's wiped my tears.

last time i saw her wipe her tears was when gabe died.

im sure there were many tears her hands wiped. many belonging to her.

but she wasnt teary yesterday.

she looked at me calmly. and eventually, tears stopped.

they do stop.

so they may start again. 

later.

hands are never still-

but those two, of hers, will become still.

soon.

and i will think of that. 

her, both hands, me, just one hand.