What is it about hands?

Part of a series called Dear Andy, written as letters to my late brother exploring the issues of loss and grief. 

Dear Andy,

Grief continues to teach me lessons and bring unexpected surprises. I don’t know if I thought I’d “get the hang of it” but it’s been nearly two years since you died and still nuances of living without you are unfolding.

I didn’t expect to lose you so early in life. The other day, I realized that if I live to Dad’s age, I’ll spend more than half of my life without you. God willing, should I make it past eighty, will I still be surprised now and then? Or, will life without you be even more familiar than life was with you in it?

A few weeks ago, our entire family gathered for the first time since your memorial service. As we curved around the bend and the Grand Rapids skyline came into view, I felt a pit in my stomach. It’s been awhile since I was so overcome with grief. After the sadness took hold, it was followed by yearning. Of all the sentiments, I found myself wishing that I could hold your hand one last time. I wanted it so badly that it hurt. What is it about hands?

When I remember you, I expect to see your face but I’ve been surprised how often I focus on your hands. I remember your hands drawing one of your signature caricatures and I feel longing. I picture your hands rolling a cigarette and I feel irritated. I celebrate your hands shooting the basketball before the buzzer and I feel nostalgic. I zoom in on your hands in a photograph until it’s blurry and investigate how they rest casually together without betraying any of your inner pain. I imagine your hands making final preparations to end your life and my throat constricts with grief. I dream of your limp, lifeless hands and work so terribly hard to feel the freedom that I know you sought. What is it about hands?

Are hands so symbolic of our human condition that my mind keeps returning to yours as I grapple to understand your lack of physical existence? We don’t overly celebrate our five-fingered tools and yet we regularly use them to greet people, show our vote of approval or disapproval, offend, stimulate our luck, wear symbols of eternal love, show we we are ok, hang-loose, give direction, and even spread peace. What is it about hands?

I sometimes wonder that if our culture viewed death differently, might your ending have been less lonely? I worry about the solitude of your final moments. Though it probably never could (or should?) have been so, I often wish that I was with you at the end. If I knew that there was no stopping your decision, would I have had the courage to respect it and sit with you, holding your hand, helping you cross over more peacefully? What is it about hands?

I use my own hands to peck out this letter and share it. My hope is to offer others some new thoughts and stimulate responses that forward my own.

In my mind, I see you smiling and offering me an affirming high five.

I miss you.
Caroline