Grandma’s Hands

When you look at my hands, you see old, wrinkled skin. But when I look at my hands, I see something different.

These hands have been with me my whole life. They helped me reach for my dreams and grab good chances when they came my way. They helped me through happy times and sad times.

When I was little, these hands fed me. They helped me get dressed every morning, learning how to work buttons and zippers. They tied my shoes for the first time and combed my hair for school pictures and dates.

My hands have done all kinds of things. They got dirty from working hard. They got scraped up when I was a kid playing outside. They got swollen from heavy work and burned in the kitchen. I wore three different wedding rings on these hands – each ring meant someone loved me and wanted to marry me.

These hands were strong when I held my babies for the first time. I was amazed by their tiny fingers. Later, these same hands shook when I had to say goodbye to people I loved – my brother, two husbands, my mother, and my sister. Each goodbye hurt my heart and left marks on my hands too.

Even now, when my body hurts and feels old, my hands still help me. They help me get up in the morning and help me lie down at night. They connect who I used to be with who I am now.

Today, my hands have a new job. They hug my grandchildren with the same love I gave my own children. They pinch their rosy cheeks that remind me of faces from long ago. My hands still hold the steering wheel so I can drive to new places. They open doors – real doors and doors to new experiences and friendships.

When I’m quiet, these hands fold together when I pray. I don’t ask for things I’ve lost. I ask to remember the good times. My hands turn the pages of photo albums. Each picture shows the life I’ve built and the love I’ve given.

Yes, these hands tell my life story. Every wrinkle is like a chapter in a book. Every age spot is like a paragraph. Every scar is like a sentence in the amazing story of my 79 years of life. My hands are like my life story written on my skin.

And I’m not done writing my story yet.

Bobbie Bennett
2025