It's all in their hands. The one whose caresses I've felt when my skin glowed with youthful promise and as my hips stretched with the weight of our unborn son. Those hands that I hope will trace the years on my face, lines traveling through the joys and sorrows of a life well lived. It's in the growing hand wrapped around my finger squeezing helplessly just a few hours in this world and now leading me to the places he wants to go. Those hands that discover and grow. Those hands that made me a mom.
It's in hands long gone, those of my grandmother wrinkled and beautiful who thumbs traced circles on my wrist when she held them. It's in hands still here oozing with my mother's strength. A strength I've relied on all my life. In my dad's hands callused with work and sprinkled with saw dust. It's in the hands of my sister that have held mine for as long as I can remember.
My silver lining is in these hands that have held me from my birth to the birth of the only legacy worth leaving behind. They are lined with hope and promise, connected by love.