Remembering My Parents' Hands - A Day of the Dead blog from Jan
Submitted by Jan Buerge on
My parents’ hands. Intertwined. Strong hands. Working hands. Creating hands. Teaching and nursing hands. My parents’ hands - the first image that came to my mind as I thought about creating a memory box to my parents.
The strength of their bond and how they cemented that bond each and every night by holding hands and sitting at the side of their bed for prayer before climbing into bed. We rarely saw that. Mom talked about it. And how she missed it after Dad was gone.
I thought of how I loved to watch them walk or sit hand in hand. Not often, but when on a walk, perhaps just briefly, perhaps more when they were older.
Earlier they were busy raising 5 children. Hands then were working, gardening, teaching, nursing.
But they were also packing all of us into a station wagon for camping trips. Summer trips east and west, north and south. Exploring, learning, enjoying. Together as a family. Stakes held our tent. Stakes held our tarp over the table. And “stakes” of shared experiences built memories.
Together they shared their love of adventure, travel and our great outdoors that have shaped my life. Their lives. Ground in Faith. Anchored in Family. “Stakes.” Their hands.