I gazed upon my mother, as she lay so frail and ill,
Her
hands rested so quietly - they had never been so still.
Images filled my memory - my mother through the years,
Her
hands were never empty - wiping noses, drying tears.
Showing small fingers how to color, cut and paste - original
works of art,
Posting our pictures on the fridge, teaching us much - we felt
so smart.
Gently rocking babies in her arms, combing a child’s tangled
hair,
Soothing many a sore, injured knee - mending cherished dolls with
tender care.
She picked up toys, tied little shoes, folded piles of clothes,
big and small,
I don’t know where she found the time to so wonderfully
complete it all.
Kneading soft, rich challah dough into loaves so fresh and
sweet,
Baking birthday cakes and cookies, we just couldn’t wait to eat.
Graceful hands floating in welcome for the peaceful Shabbos
Queen,
Covering her eyes she quietly prayed for health and joy, and
everything in between.
Cuddling children and grandchildren in arms, so near her loving
heart,
Reading stories and singing songs, dividing treats into exact equal
parts.
All this and more are my mother’s hands with their nails trimmed
short and neat,
Hands filled with guidance, love and purpose, their soothing
touch warm and sweet.
These hands though rough and scarred are so beautiful to me and
You,
The mitzvos they have done are precious, the home they’ve built
honest and true.
Please heal this loving mother, Hashem, I plead through
heartfelt tears,
Give merit for all the mitzvos these hands have
done, throughout the years.