This week’s photo challenge is “symbol.” I don’t usually write much for these photo challenges because I think the photo should speak for itself. But we were also asked to tell the story behind the choice of our symbol.
My mother’s hands. The last time I saw her. We were sitting on her patio in San Miguel de Allende, July 2010.
These hands held me, caressed me, bathed me, massaged me, wrapped around my face, and held me when I was learning to swim. They brushed my hair, cooked food, tended flowers in the garden, held our kitties, stroked our dogs, and cared for her beloved horses.
They held castanets and ballet positions when we danced together. And they played her piano. Beautifully. They were poetry in motion.
They never once hurt me. They were living symbols of love. And when she was dying, I held her hands in mine and gave her back as much love as I could.
Writing in Umbria 