Hands
I read a post today on a site promoting mental health. The recommendation to the poster seeking comfort was to look at the ceiling, at your hands, etc. Since I am having a moment, I looked at my hands.
My hands held my daughter when she was born almost 23 years ago. These hands bathed her, dried her, changed her diaper. These are the hands that moved her hair off her beautiful face. These hands picked her up to hug her because she gave the best hugs. They cupped her face to give her a kiss. These are the hands that clapped when she accomplished something that made her happy. These hands wiped her tears when she was crying.
These hands are weary now and the tears that I wipe are my own.
Parental mental health is not considered or acknowledged in 2024. Parents grieve alone while trans rights and everything around gender ideology is celebrated. I pray this current state of affairs changes.
I too use my hands to wipe away tears, over and over again. I'm sorry.
My baby girl used to hug me and call me Mama and snuggle in bed with me every night for a “scratch pat” (which she loved to drift off to sleep). Then her Daddy would carry her into her bed until she got to about 12 or 13 and he would “walk” her into her bed. She’s 19 now and “trans” and it’s like a stranger has stolen her body and mind away. I can’t ever have her back, she’s grown up now and is making her own decisions but gee I miss those Scratch Pats!