as I have hundreds of nights before. I dreamed of you, sleeping,
your cheek pressed hard against your pillow.
Another Woman's hands tend your wounds,
soften your scars, do all the tiny little tasks that make your life more complete.
Another Woman's Hands toil at the stove, make your favorite meals, pick out
the gifts that make you smile. Another Woman's Hands brush back your hair,
wash your clothes, sort your socks.
Another Woman's Hands have taken from mine all those things that were my privilege.
Another Woman's Hands sign the papers that allow another to take care of you, feel your
forehead for a fever, place an ice pack on your swollen joints, Another Woman's Hands
hold yours as you conquer fears and take great leaps. Another Woman's Hands plumped
that pillow on which your sweet face lies, turn the pages of the book her voice is reading to you.
Another Woman's Hands lift that blanket and tuck it beneath your chin, pat your shoulder,
turn off the lights. Another Woman's Hands are your sanctuary, your safe place.
Another Woman's Hands are your home. And I miss you.
For My Children, Who are not Mine Anymore,
I love you.
Sara,
Age 43
