My Papa's Hands

 I remember how my Papa caresses my hands, touching every finger and fingernails and the contour of my hands, telling me how I got my long hands from him. Ever since I was a little girl, he would just hold my hand, look at them and feel them. When I got older, he would always comment that my fingers and hands are very much the same as his! 

 When he died, I was holding his 2 hands as if I didn't wanna let him go. But God calls him home and Papa responded. He had to say goodbye. I needed to release my grip. We needed to let go of each other... 

 Acceptance. I realized that we have let go of each other physically, but there are a thousand and one ways that we continually bind us. Those ways are way beyond our comprehension. Way beyond our understanding. Way beyond our naked eyes... The connection he implanted on our hearts, memories...

 Now every time I look at my hands I remember him. I feel him in my hands. His blood flowing through my veins. I would not be able to hold his hands anymore. But he will occupy a special place in my heart forever. A special spot in our memories... 

A wacky shot with my Pop!
I miss you...

"Papa, I can't believe you're gone. Every time I see your photos, you smiling and very much alive, I feel good. But when I see your death certificate and your epitaph stating the facts that you have already left us, the pain comes back. The sadness sets in. The tears keep falling..."