My right hand reaches for the cordless phone that is ringing on the kitchen wall.
Fingers rapidly press the buttons as I call my friend down the block to come and help with my sleeping child.
Frantically searching hands find my car keys within the unkempt “junk-drawer.”
Hands grip the steering wheel as I pray silently on the way to the hospital; those same hands now cradle my forehead, creating stability when I am given the mind numbing news.
Fingers stroking his blood entrusted hair for the last time, feeling his cold cheek.
These hands of mine, I have known for 29 years, holding a trembling pen as I sign organ donation papers, an unrecognizable signature.
Both hands now cupped between my pastor’s hands, praying to the God who seems distant to me now.
Emergency room exited through doors being pushed by a security guard’s hands.
Tight fists struggling to unclench as I drive again to tell family what happened and dial more numbers.
Fingers unlock, hands outstretched as I embrace loved ones and friends.
My hands now open, receiving casseroles, cards and memorials.
Help coming from others, their hands finishing projects, rocking my toddler, and wiping tears from my cheeks.
The ordinary and extraordinary things we do with our hands…