I've always loved Grandma hands. I remember taking my Grandmother's hand and tracing the raised blood vessels under her skin with my finger. Now both my mother and Grandmother are gone and I have taken their place.
The other day I felt my granddaughter tracing her finger along the raised blood vessels on my hand. As I watched her, I thought, I have grandma hands.
I like that.
You see, you can’t be a grandma until you’ve actually raised a child to adulthood.
You learn a lot on that journey.
And then . . . all the love you've freely given . . . comes back . . . as your grandchild tenderly slips her tiny hand in yours.