Daddy's Hands

That was the song that played during the Father/Daughter dance at my wedding.  I knew that it was going to be the song we would dance to since I was 12 years old.  I hadn't even dreamed of the man I was going to marry, how old I would be, where I would be living or what I would be doing for a living when it happened.  But I knew that was going to be The Song.  To this day every single time I hear it, I cry.  It has so much meaning to me. When I was an awkward pre-teen and couldn't put feelings into words, when I couldn't tell him that even if I didn't ask for piggy back rides anymore or hold his hand in public, I still loved my Daddy- that song said it for me.  I remember riding to the cabin on Summer Friday nights and singing along with it on the radio.

My Dad's hands could do anything in this world he wanted them to.  He built a home, made a living, raised a family giving comfort, love and discipline with those hands.  Even a years old injury that caused his right hand to be partially paralyzed didn't stop him from accomplishing amazing things with his hands. He has fixed cars, cut down trees, built decks, and installed toilets and sinks with those hands.  He built dressing tables for his grandchildren when they were born.  Those hands have held them safely and cherished them.  Those hands held mine as he walked me down the aisle to give me away on my wedding day.  We were both nervous as hell and shaking like leaves!

I recently saw my Dad's hands and I cannot shake the image from my mind.  The treatment for his brain cancer has changed them.  The tan, strong hands that I know to be my Father's are now pale and bony.  They shake when he tries to do simple tasks.  Cancer has robbed him of the ability to work with them, to keep them strong and supple.  Of all the things that he has gone through and all the changes that this cancer has caused in him, I am most profoundly affected by his hands.  I pray every day and every night that this change is merely temporary- a side effect of the chemotherapy and the medications.  I pray every day and every night that he will soon be able to return to the things that I know he longs so much to do, like work in his workshop in the shed and cut the grass.  I pray fervently that very soon, his hands will return to the hands that I remember and treasure.  I pray that the image I cannot seem to come to terms with in my mind will be a memory, and he will be vigorous and healthy again.

I pray and I hope because just as sure as I knew the song that would play during the Father/Daughter dance at my wedding, I know that it is all in God's hands.  Then I pray more.