When I think of my grandmother, Gigi, what I remember most often are her hands. They always seemed so small for for her 5'8" frame: her fingers were shorter than mine but they could reach a 10-note spread (I can only reach octave). My first memory is of her holding me tight: enfolded in her arms, I was safe against the world. In church, I would feel a soft but firm grip on my elbow, reminding me to sit still on the pew. When I had chicken pox, hers were the hands that blotted me with a cold, damp cloth to keep me from scratching my aching body. She would gently stroke my hair when I cried, lift my face, and remind me to keep my chin up. In my dreams, I hear the music of her hands on the piano keys, or the strings of the harp, or poised in midair to punctuate the voices of the choir she was directing. The day she went away, I held her hands tightly and brushed the backs of her fingers across my cheek. Of all the ways I can see my grandmother's hands, I could never have imagined them waving goodbye.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
My Grandmother's Hands
When I think of my grandmother, Gigi, what I remember most often are her hands. They always seemed so small for for her 5'8" frame: her fingers were shorter than mine but they could reach a 10-note spread (I can only reach octave). My first memory is of her holding me tight: enfolded in her arms, I was safe against the world. In church, I would feel a soft but firm grip on my elbow, reminding me to sit still on the pew. When I had chicken pox, hers were the hands that blotted me with a cold, damp cloth to keep me from scratching my aching body. She would gently stroke my hair when I cried, lift my face, and remind me to keep my chin up. In my dreams, I hear the music of her hands on the piano keys, or the strings of the harp, or poised in midair to punctuate the voices of the choir she was directing. The day she went away, I held her hands tightly and brushed the backs of her fingers across my cheek. Of all the ways I can see my grandmother's hands, I could never have imagined them waving goodbye.
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I had not realized that Virginia had passed away. I started my search for her a few months ago because I wanted to thank her for the gift she uncovered in me. She realized I wasn't created to play music with a horizontal keyboard. She was my first harp teacher. I wanted her to know that the time she invested in me has paid off. I guess she knows that now. :) She and my dad are singing with the angels where there are no wrong notes. ---deb kuykendall
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