First Steps Funerals and Nanas Hands

First Steps Funerals and Nana's Hands By Evelyn Aimarie 2 days after my Nana's funeral My oldest son took his first steps. She was my grandmother on my father's side, but more like a mother to me. Palms textured like warm overwashed cotton sheets- thin but comfortable, and clothes line, spring sunshine soft. Pastel blue intricate barely visible veins whispered life through skin undertoned with shades of the palest tea stains and ochre, Broken in tone only by the occasional bruise she swore she couldn't remember where she got. Tendons like flower roots danced like the underworkings of piano keys when she wiggled her fingers. She always wore a ring with the birthstones of all of her grandchildren on it. There was a time before my son. Before my Nanas hands were so tired, so delicately tired and weighted by their form from generations of holding hands Holding babies Holding house holds together. Holding my heart as it strummed for a mother and she tuned into the song, danced the role beautifully and with ease. Wore it like a cloak and draped it around my shoulders in support when I brought my son home from the hospital As she proudly exclaimed how beautiful he was with tears in her eyes. The time before, when I was small, I would reach for those... less tired.. more supple hands. With the ring tighter on the finger to the point we once had to use dish soap and string and the sheer force of panic to remove it. When the skin was not as rubbed of its youth. There was a time when I reached for her hands, too, for balance. 2 days after my Nanas funeral, the same day I inherited her ring with the birthstones of all of her grandchildren on it The first day I had it on my finger My oldest son took his first steps into MY outstretched hands. I suppose, I'm keeping her cloak warm. I suppose, I miss her. I suppose, my Nana's hands were on my shoulders behind me that day. 2 days after my Nana's funeral, My oldest son took his first steps