What I remember most is the way their hands changed. The veins became more prominent. Their skin became rougher. Their knuckles became knobby with arthritis.
And they seemed smaller, so much smaller than I remembered.
She seems smaller now, too. And more tired. Her eyes are pinched with remembered grief. So much suffering has been contained in that small frame.
But I can’t forget the strength, too. Such incomprehensible strength.
What their hands have lived through. What their hands have survived. What their hands have made.
There is so much to learn, so much to tell.