Writing Assignment #6
Her hands looked like mine. Or rather, my hands looked like hers. My skin is also becoming looser with small brown spots. It actually has something. No more tight skin, but all the more memories and experiences.
Her hands loved hard work. Preferably in the soil. She loved her vegetable garden.
Her hands always helped me. She did everything she could. When I was sad, her hands comforted me. Whenever I went on an adventure, she happily went along. She adored me, and I her.
Our hands have had many mother-daughter moments. Our last mother-daughter moment before she got sick was a long weekend in Aachen, Germany. We went to bed extra early and chatted for hours. During her illness I held her hand non-stop. I didn’t want to let go of her hand, never, but I thought the time was right. I miss her hands.