My mother always had the most beautiful hands. Even when they were disfigured by arthritis, she still made them look fantastic. She always shaped and painted her own nails much to the surprise of everyone because they looked professionally done. The photo above was taken after her first manicure a couple of years ago. Macular degeneration, which had robbed her of her ability to drive, to read, and to fully enjoy watching television, among other things, had also made doing her own nails much too frustrating and difficult.

Her hand had held mine since the moment she brought me into this world. A week ago tonight, I held my mother’s hand for the last time. She got through tricuspid valve replacement surgery in February, and a hip fracture and surgery in May, but the damage done was just too much to overcome. She spent two days in palliative care after time and age just caught up with her heart, her kidneys, and her liver. Since Mom wasn’t talking any more and only opened her eyes on the day she died, I spent a lot of time holding her hand and talking to her. I told her what a wonderful mother she had been, how strong she was, how proud I was to be her daughter, and how much I loved her. As I was helping her transition from this life to the next, I kept a firm grip on her hand and continued telling her, “Don’t be afraid. I’ve got you.” I could hear her mechanical mitral valve (which she had implanted in 1996), click slower and slower as her time on the Earth grew shorter and shorter. I reminded her of something a friend of hers always said: “The last breath you take on Earth is the first breath you take in Heaven”. Isn’t that a lovely thought?

While I grieve the loss of her physical presence, I feel truly blessed that I could take the hand that comforted, supported, protected, and guided me for almost 56 years and do the same for her as she made her journey home.