Twelve years. That is the length of time that I got with my mother before she passed. It’s not much. Looking back, it was the blink of an eye.

I don’t have a lot of memories of her. And unfortunately, most of them are of her illness. But today, as I look down at my hands, I’m so thankful that they are her hands. When I look at them, I see Mommy’s hands. The hands that cared for the sick. The hands that nurtured and raised my sister and me for as long as they could.

I look at my hands and am thankful that I have a part of my mother. And I continue to do my best to carry on her legacy with them.