The older I get, the more my hands look like my mother’s. I realized this two years ago when I completed a project for her.
My mother was an artist. She was always immersed in art. She was always creating. When she passed away in 2003, I inherited some of her art supplies. One special item was a green metal tool box, securely “locked” with a bobby pin. That bobby pin was so her, one of those little things you don’t notice. Until you do.
But the real treasure was inside the weathered green box, among all the little sketches, scraps, sand paper, tools, pencils, and other assorted doodads. A rough cast of a ring, designed in the late 60s just as life got busy for her (grad school, work, kids). So it remained in the green box, unfinished, for forty years.
When I inherited the box, life had gotten busy for me, too. So the ring stayed put for another eighteen years. Then, in 2021, with my son away at college and my life moving at a much calmer pace, I rediscovered my mother’s incomplete project. And I finished it. 
When I slid it on for the first time, I looked down to admire it, and lo and behold, I was staring down at my mother’s hand. It was a moment of deep connection to her.
Our hands, sharing a ring.
Our hands, sharing genes.
Our hands that, between us, have created thousands of works of art.
Besides inheriting her hands, her green box, and her love of art, I inherited so much more, all of which I have come to appreciate with greater intensity as the years pass.
Her appreciation of nature.
Her sense of humor.
Her open-mindedness.
Her desire to always grow and challenge herself.
On this Mother’s Day, I think of her and wish so much that we could’ve created so much more art together, perhaps even have created a business together. I am grateful for the time we had, and eternally grateful that she was my mother.
With that, I wish you a Happy Mother’s Day!
(with extra love for those who need it today)