May 8, 2011
By wearehaunted BRONZE, Louisville, Kentucky
wearehaunted BRONZE, Louisville, Kentucky
1 article 1 photo 0 comments

Her hands are cold to the touch, a haunting, pale white.
They lay flat on her lap, still and disturbed only by an occasional nervous twiddle.
They are not the hands that I have known my entire life;

they have become something foreign, unknown.

These are not the hands that guided me when I was learning to walk.

They can’t be.

How are the hands I have known my entire life suddenly something new?

The hands that always knew which way to guide me are now still, unable to move.
Restrained by IV’s tugging and pulling at the slightest movement.

Hands marked by newly formed scars.
Scars that shouldn't be there.

Scars that I still hate to this day.

Scars marking an innocent person for the rest of their life.

Scars that bare stories that you wouldn’t be able to imagine.

Scars that show the strength to pull through.

The author's comments:
I wrote this piece about my mom and her hands when she was in the Intensive Care Unit. This piece is very personal and I wrote it to vent some built up frustration. I rarely discuss the situation so I find myself writing about it, enjoy.

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This article has 1 comment.

on Jun. 14 2011 at 10:08 am
willowwriter GOLD, Rogers, Arkansas
13 articles 0 photos 23 comments

Favorite Quote:
"no matter who you are, where you come from, or where you are going, you are always loved"

I really like this. I can understand and relate with this as well. I really really like the last sentence.

Parkland Book