Personal Narrative Essay: The Change In My Father's Life

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There was a time when my daughter went to hold my hand to puts lotion on it and I believe I shocked her for a brief moment, as she said, “Mom, your hands feel Grandma’s hands used to feel like. You know, soft but like your skin is thinning.” I did know, as I had started to notice the change in my own hands myself. But hands have always been a mystery and a miracle to me. You see, I love hands. I love holding the hands of children, elderly people, my husband, my family, it doesn’t matter; I’m demonstrative and have no fear showing my emotions. Holding hands appears to be the such a simple easy way to connect with people. Plus there is a sense of security that goes with this simple act. And, it certainly doesn’t hurt that I am a huggy person. So in my Act 3, yes, I had noticed that my skin was changing and my mind went spinning back to why I’m so enthralled with hands. I’ve been this way since I was a tiny little girl, dancing on my father’s feet holding on to his oversized hands. It all began very early on. My father had the most marvelous set of hands. They were glorious hands; workers hands, calloused and soft at the same time. NOTHING ever made me feel better in my life when I was young than to have my father hold my hand, or to pick me up and let me play…show more content…
I felt that my dad could, and still some how, would always be with me. I marveled at where these hands had been for 94 years and how many other lives had he made to feel safe. How many jobs had they toiled, how gently they had loved. I remember seeing how he had calmly held all seven of his grandchildren as babies; how he could one moment chop wood with the skill of a seasoned laborer, and the next tenderly rock a babe to sleep with the same coarse, tender

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