Part of the story that enters my mind is how I view my husband’s hands now compared to when we were first together. Thinking of when we first met and the youthfulness of his hands. Free of career scars, wrinkles, and full of strength. When my husband and I first met he would tell me about his farming experiences and part of the stories included helping neighboring farmers when tragedy struck. Since then I had viewed my husband as this badass guy devoid of emotions when there was a job to be done in relation to animals dying and rescue calls. He is no doubt the strongest person I know. But I also saw the tenderness in those same strong hands. How he would hold my hand while shopping and the gentle touch of holding his newborn child. His Daughter. So tiny and fragile. How could those same hands be the same hands that held our Anna in death. When I asked him about that night, he very carefully explained how he held her while the first responders worked on getting her down. He wanted her to have her dignity. He wanted her to know she was still loved even after she made this choice to end her life. I will never doubt what love can do in times of tragedy. Her father’s hands. How he held her when she entered the world and held as she exited the world. A father’s love.
the love in a father’s hand.