I don't really obsess about age or getting older. It happens to everyone so be it. Maybe it's because I don't feel that old (yet) and while there is an occasional grey hair and wrinkle...I am still battling acne so it doesn't fee like I am old. Are you allowed to have wrinkles and zits? It should be outlawed! But aging happens, to us all, and apparently when we are not looking.
I got an e-mail with a picture of the hubby and me taken at a wedding we were at this summer. It was a good picture and I was excited because we have very few pictures of us without children. Than I noticed my hand....my husband noticed my hand and he said "well it would have been a nice picture if you hadn't been apparently shooting up that morning, I'll have to airbrush it". All of a sudden I had an old lady hand!
I knew it was coming as I have the skinny, bony, veiny thin skinned hands of my great grandma, my grandma and my mother. They might not be model hands, but they are connection to my past, to my history. I can look down at any moment and be reminded of my tenacious great grandmother who lived well into her 90's. Until the day she died she was giving herself to others typing Braille books for the blind. I am sure I got my fiery personality and somewhat abrasive attitude from her. She was a tough cookie and she told Otho she saw it and expected everyone around her to do the same. My daughter shares her name and her spirit.
I see my grandmas hands. The loving caring hands that would hold mine. I didn't get enough time with her. She left us when I was so self absorbed with being a tween and a teen that I couldn't fully appreciate her or how hard her life must have been. In death I have learned so much more of her life. I have learned her history through family pictures and stories I am learning more then I ever knew and it makes me miss her more and more.
They are also my mothers hands, although much warmer as my mothers hands are always like ice. I am reminded of the lessons learned from her, good and bad and wonder how they effect my own relationship with my daughter. They also make me wonder...when will she loose her baby hands? Will her hands grow to be the skinny hands of my family or will she have the stronger working hands of her dad? What does her future hold and what kind of history will she remembers when she looks at her hands?
The kids like to trace the "roads" on my hands and feel all the veins and tendons. I imagine one day, when my daughter is older telling her how these are the hands of many generations of woman and mothers and watching to see if her hands continue the legacy of time, even if they aren't very photogenic.