The hands of my abuelita have been there since my birth.
She was one of the first to embrace me. They are the hands I always see.
Her hands have done more for me then I have for myself.
They raised me to today. They helped me find my way.
They are the ones that cradled me to sleep late at night when no one else would hear my cry.
The ones with a towel that kept me dry. The hands that never stopped working to get by.
Her hands are the ones you never see in a picture, but are everywhere.
They protected me when I was most vulnerable. They lifted my spirits when I was miserable.
The hands that prepared me cups of hot cocoa every morning. The chance to hold them is rewarding. Hands that feed me until my stomach burst. Ones that supply a never ending amount of food. That brought a warm plate to change my mood.
Her hands made Mexican delicious dishes. The ones that made the best beans. They prepared me coffee in secret. They hugged me even though I use to behave like a mischievous demon. When I was hungry she would swiftly fill me up. Those hands prepared my favorite soup to lift me up. They made sure my stomach was never empty. Her hands are the ones that brushed my long hair. The hands that were gentle and massaged my head until I had no cares. The person that took out all the knots in my head. The hands that even in the coldest nights put me to bed. The hands that enveloped me with blankets and held me through the darkest hours. When I was little she shielded me from under the bed monsters. Her hands held mine through my nightmares. They cleaned my hot tears from haunting dreams. They tucked me in and sheltered me from the cold howling winds outside. Her hands acted as my guide. She was my babysitter and my protector. My grandmother’s hands caressed my face when I worried. They massaged my forehead when I needed to de-stress. They helped me when my mind was a mess. They’re were there when I felt I was going to explode. She took off the painful load.
When I felt under the weather she lifted my head and made me feel better. They moved to demonstrate when she told me her stories. She’d tell me about El Chupacabra, La Llorona, and her own life journeys.
Her hands waved around and held you close enchanting you with her motions and words. She used her fingers to bring her tales to life. There they were for me day and night. Her hands get me dressed in the bright morn. Rain or shine she helped get in my uniform. She sets me up for my school day. Her hands fed, dressed, bathed, brushed, and put me to sleep. They cleaned my tears and brought a smile to my face. They helped me through all my situations and emotions everyday. They were there always and for everything. They provided me love. No matter what happiness they brought. In my heart they will forever have a spot. No matter when they are there. She is always in my prayers. They brought nothing but love, joy, and care throughout the years. To not have her will give me continuous tears. Time goes on and I see her precious hands age. I see those hands grow weak, but her soul grows stronger. The day those hands leave my sun will shine no longer. They are my caregivers and defend me from harm. I wish to never leave her arms. We try to treasure every moment. Without her my heart will be broken. No one could ever replace her. We know she’s getting older, but do not know how much time she has. The more time goes by the less time we have together. The more time goes by the more memories I will have and hold forever.