falsechaos: (Default)
( Feb. 5th, 2010 05:05 pm)
He had strong hands. Thick fingers and nails and blunt fingertips. Always cool, never sweaty. Steady as rock or stone and just as strong. Sometimes raised in warning or admonishment, but never in anger or with the intent to cause pain. Hands that picked me up and carried me to bed, hands that fixed Donald Duck orange juice and peanut butter sandwiches late at night.

There was a beard that came and went over the years and blond hair that slowly turned gray. A pot belly that swelled a bit and legs that weren't quite as sturdy as they used to be. Then a motorized wheelchair and a constant O2 cannula in his nose. Blue eyes that weren't as clear and a memory that wasn't as immediately sharp.

But his hands remained strong.

I miss you, dad.
.

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