Weathered Hands

She sat in a rocking chair by the window, her hands placed lightly in her lap. Her gaze seemed transfixed upon her hands which were worn and wrinkled from years of use. There was something almost sad about the look in her eyes. You could tell by the glazed over look that she wasn’t fully there anymore and you couldn’t help but wonder at her story. Who was she? What had she done in her lifetime? I sat there staring at her trying to decide what could have happened to this woman, or what she had made happen around her.

It was as though I were instantly transported to a much simpler time. I saw a younger version of the woman before me. She could not have been more than ten years old. She ran down a dirt road hand in hand with another girl. The second girl was a little younger, but shared the same strawberry blonde hair and light green eyes of the older one. It was easy to tell that they were sisters. I followed them into a barn filled with the smell of warm hay and the muskiness of animals. They climbed a ladder to the top of loft and made their way to the corner. I heard them begin to whisper, and as I got closer I could see that they were huddled over a litter of kittens.

And just like that I was transported to the second story room of an older house. The light danced across the room and fell upon a young woman in her 20’s. As I walked around to see who she was, her face began to breed that sense of familiarity. This was my friend, the woman who I did not know. She stood in front of a mirror and I could see that today was her wedding day. Her eyes began to scan the length of the mirror and I began to do the same. Her dress was ivory lace, and her hair was drawn back into a loose braided bun. Her strawberry hair seemed to be set afire by the light streaming in. The door behind us opened and in came another familiar face. Dressed in light blue and carrying forget-me-nots the young girl who ran down the dirt road had grown into a beautiful young woman who was without a doubt planning on standing at her sister’s side. She leaned in and whispered something in to her ear and I wondered what was being said.

In a second I was in standing in front of a young mother. In her arms was a baby girl, wrapped in pink and at her feet stood two toddlers who looked just alike. She looked tired and much older than she probably should have. I looked around to find the man that she had married, but he was nowhere in sight. As the baby in her arms began to cry the two at her feet echoed the sounds and you could see this young woman begin to drown in the noise. As she began to silence the cries of her young children I a tear escape her eye and make a trail down her cheek. She seemed so alone in that moment. I couldn’t help but feel this overwhelming desire to help her, to somehow get her to the other side of this.

From there I was instantly at the graduation of her oldest children. The twins were graduating high school, and the five other children that she had borne surrounded her. The twins had their mother’s hair and their father’s brown eyes. I still could not find him in the crowd of faces, but I did see the familiar face of the sister who was always close at hand. My friend looked quite a deal older than she should have and I began to understand the weathered wear of the lady in the rocking chair.