i remember she always had the nicest nails.

they weren't fancy or painted. they were fairly thin, but thick at the same time, and had a square shape to them.

they were so pretty, and i always would trace over them with my fingers when i was at her house as i would hold her hand while sitting on the couch.

"you have such pretty finger nails Grandma", I would tell her. she would giggle...

her hands were the hands of a Grandma. a woman who was always busy keeping house, baking some sort of pie, planting rhubarb out back, washing clothes, or making beds.

such soft hands....soft freckled hands she had.


touching her soft beautiful fingernails was one of the last things i did before they closed the casket.

i wanted to trace my fingers over them again...to forever etch in my memory how they felt. how her grandma hands looked.

even in death, she looked lovely.


i will miss her touch, and the way things used to be ever so much....