“There are moments, which mark your life.
Moments when you realize nothing will ever be the same
And time is divided into two parts, before this, and after this.”
Ah ma, I am thinking of you, always.
Remembering you. Daydreaming about your hands. And the way they must have held me as a baby. The way they lifted me up as a child. The way you opened the world for me to believe I could one day do anything I set my mind to. Those were the same hands I talked to, cried to, prayed to on those sleepless nights by your hospital bed. Hands that left me sobbing, dripping like a question mark so full of beg. Those hands that remind me of hope, loss, courage, and everything that is limitless.
Each curve, each line, each wrinkle telling a story. Remembering you. Daydreaming about your hands. And the way they must have held me as a baby. The way they lifted me up as a child. The way you opened the world for me to believe I could one day do anything I set my mind to. Those were the same hands I talked to, cried to, prayed to on those sleepless nights by your hospital bed. Hands that left me sobbing, dripping like a question mark so full of beg. Those hands that remind me of hope, loss, courage, and everything that is limitless.
An unsang melody lasting 97 years.
The hands of a servant girl, a midwife, a farmer, a wife, a mother, a grandmother.
It is one year later, yet I still feel your heartbeat. Bashing
against my consciousness, daring me to be a better woman. I am the product of a grandmother who taught me about affection
and selflessness. About right from wrong. About being humble with myself and
those who I love. I am a product of a grandmother who would leave me her last dollar because she knew I would always be her last dream.
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