Hands of the Mother

I ran my fingers through Jacob’s hair last night.

And my skin lit up, recalling how I did that the last time I saw Tanner alive.

It was a surreal moment, of knowing it was a goodbye. But not knowing.

Sweet, tender, mothercraft.

Last night, the way Jacob’s hair moved, the texture, smooth, like strands of silk.

My whole body opened. Melted, inside the remembrance.

I became a chalice overflowing with love, raining down tears for the boy I will never touch again.

Quietly, I closed my eyes, and imagined for a moment that it was Tanner’s hair between my fingers.

And in that moment, all of the love had somewhere to go.

That’s the hardest part of grief. The Love that has no vessel to receive it.

That’s why nature is such a gift. The earth is always available to receive our excess love.

Love, That when it gets backed up feels so much like pain.

Today I’m grateful for the hall of memory that lives in my hands. Mother hands.

And even more grateful for the hands of the greatest Mother.