How transparent and thin the skin over my hands has become, revealing these gnarly blue veins. Some days the joints in my fingers swell and I feel like the character, David Banner when his body suddenly bulges into The Hulk and as the swelling retreats, my fingers  are increasingly deformed.

Today, instead of feeling disturbed by these unpleasant signs of aging,  I thought,"these are my Grandmother’s hands" as a sense of love and acceptance flowed through me.

 I remember many visits with my mom, inevitably I would press the heel of my hand on to hers and find that our hands were a perfect match.  Although into her 90’s, her hands were riddled with arthritis, they were beautiful to me.

In the photo are the hands of three generations. Mine, intermingled with my son’s and our firstborn granddaughter Reajie (2007). A love transmitted from one hand to another that will continue to span across many lifetimes, as Love eternal.

The act of writing enables us to process our experiences and in doing so, we discover insights that we may have missed because we were so busy and just kept moving. Yet in pausing to reflect, we can “notice the richness of our life experience” (paraphrased, Erie Chapman).

The written word is like a photograph; we capture a moment in time and create a lasting memory. When we share our stories, we deepen our awareness, as we honor the blessings in our relationships.

Liz Sorensen Wessel