Hope Easter was good for everyone...nice to spend time with family, but nice to be able to come home to my own little family of cats and guinea pigs.
Write About Your Father's Hands
Mamma always told me that my Daddy's hands calmed me. "Even before you entered this world Ashleigh, his hands were all you needed. You used to kick the livin' daylights out of me when you were inside my tummy, but the moment your Daddy's hands would span my massive belly, you'd settle down."
When I was born, I came out screaming and didn't stop until my Daddy held me in his hands, cradling me against his heart, bursting with Proud Pappa Pride. Even as a baby, I'd always fuss around Mamma, maybe because the two of us were so alike, and I think that frustrated her. But only when Daddy rubbed his hands against my back while I cried tears of frustration that I would realize that someone loved me.
I grew up with Daddy's hands guiding me through life, showing me the world and protecting me from harm. It was Daddy's hands that gave me away when I married my childhood sweetheart and it was his hands that held the grandson I gave him a year later.
It was also Daddy's hands behind the wheel that took Mamma's life. Sometimes I think I can still feel his touch as our hands pressed together through the two inches of wired glass when I visit him every Sunday. I would like to think the heat I feel is his love and pride radiating through the glass, but I know different, now.
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