Palm Reader

 Over the past couple of months, I think that I've endured just about every emotion known to man. During this time one memory has struck a chord so deep within me that every time it crosses my mind, my eyes swell with tears. It isn't of one particular moment in my life necessarily, but one of many times I remember: My mom was talking to a neighbor outside and tenderly stroking my younger sister's hair. This was one of countless memories of the summer evenings we spent outside, but the intensity of the memory is what captures me; the way my sister listened intently to the conversation, the smell of fresh cut grass, the voices of the neighborhood, and most of all, my mother's hands. Twenty years later, we've far outgrown those carefree summer nights, but I remember her hands and the love they provided. So long ago was that time, that I've since seen my younger sister caress her own daughter in that same comforting way.

My dad and I recently discussed the idea of writing a biography on our hands: the places they've been, the jobs they've done. I haven't been able to stop thinking about this concept. As l look at my own hands, I think about the positions they've held, the words they've written, and all the times they've broken my fall. As new chapters in my life unfold, I wonder where these hands will take me.  I often feel the things I've done are insignificant, but everything I've done has led me to where I'm going. My hands have donned perfect manicures and coffee burns. They've been cut countless times by shears and while preparing dinner. My hands have held the promise of my wedding vows, the fragile hands of a dying loved one, and my niece minutes after she was born. My hands have carried moving boxes and many many tears. My hands have shaved my head, opened bank vaults, and signed my first speeding ticket. My hands have also been stained with blame and guilt over the years, but it's all these things and so much more that have shaped my life. One day soon, they will hopefully hold the key to our first house and my college degree. They may even find a cure or save a life… One day my hands will hopefully be the loving touch that brings comfort to our child in the same ways my mother brought comfort to me. I'll never know what the network of lines on my hands stand for…whether I'll have financial fortune or simply notoriously wrinkled hands. I don't believe that my fate can't be read in my palm, however I do know that it's mysteries are within my grasp.