Daddy's Hands

This is my daddy's hands.  They are "hard work" hands.  Hands that have caressed a rough piece of wood and crafted it into something beautiful.  Hands that have taken the materials of his trade and built a cabinet, remodeled a room, built a home.  Hands that have corrected me and consoled me. Hands that have directed me and defended me.  They are beautiful hands.  Olive toned..much like my own..and yet they are wiser and more experienced, all of which is earned with age and adversity.

My daddy's hands are special. 

 They hold they hands of our children...and dance.

And bring back memories of when we were young and I would work side by side in his shop

building things..

The smell of sawdust still evokes the best of times..when it was just me and my dad.

Sanding wood

Staining furniture

and making memories.

 

 

My daddy's hands embrace me and let me know that I am special to him..as he is to me.

 

Right now my dad's hands are dressed in needles and tape..connected to IV poles

pouring antibiotics into his body.

He's had a rough 3 years.

Dialysis isn't an interesting way to spend 12 hours of your week

Or the extra few it takes to recover.

His body is raging with fever tonight

and he is in pain..

And so am I

but not physically.

His chest tube continues to drain fluid

delaying the procedure he needs...

and all he wants is to

make it home in time for

Christmas.

 

If you're the praying type...

 

I'd appreciate it.

And I'm sure he would.

 

He has plans to cook a ham and a turkey...

and have us all there with him.

 

And that's really what I want as well.

That's what I pray for.

Sharing at Savvy Southern Style

Sharing at Flower Patch Farmgirl MSM

Sharing at My Uncommon Slice of Suburbia

Sharing at Brambleberry Cottage