June 20, 2015

These are things in which, aside from the success of my children in their lives, I have complete confidence. These are my hands, shown here at forty-two. They've become thicker and stronger as hands from my many years of heavy labor, nearly unrecognizable to my own eyes as the slender and manicured sets of fingers from my many years before of playing piano.

These are hands that will hold yours, both together and singularly. Their fingers know a delicateness to comfortably entwine with yours, their palms know a warmth to cover yours in cold conditions. They will convey a confidence I don't really have as I lead you around the dance floor; they will insulate the nervousness I may have as I carry you across the threshold. Despite their digital heft, their fingertips will caress your hair as you fall asleep now and at ninety; because they are emotional extensions of my soul, my passions for you will be demonstrated in their grip, their caress, their seemingly independent desire. They'll feed you as I care for you through illness and recovery, they'll dress you and tend your every need with dignity and understanding through more dire convalescent times. Tracing your exciting lips broadly opened as you laugh, massaging your exhausted feet resignedly limp as you relax, wiping the trails of tears from your eyes and drying your cheeks as you cry, testing the limits of their own strength as your own hands squeeze them for dear life whenever we brave a new rollercoaster (actually, that might be me squeezing yours.)

These hands will bring your body to mine as we explore each other in nights of passionate intimacy, and as we console each other in moments of ultimate pain and loss. These fingers will play music for you as long as they're able, cook for you for as long as you're willing to pretend I've got a knack for it, tickle you until I get tired of hearing your melodious laugh or your exasperated command to stop, and carry you to bed every time and from anywhere you fall asleep.

These hands that I've had and used all my life are actually your hands, and, with your permission, I offer them to you, along with everything they've done, can, and will do, and the man attached to them, heart, soul, mind, and body. I humbly hope you'll accept them one day, Miss Whoever You Are.