Your beloved hands

You lift the little baby boy high up over your head with your still so strong hands and arms.
He looks at your face and laughing loudly.

You walk slowly up to the window and let the little one have a look at the world outside.

I look at you and try to catch the laughing eyes of the baby.
Your warm beloved hands are still so full of power but I know how soft they are when they handle a child.

Your wonderful dark blue eyes are still that lovely as they was the very first day we met. Though your hair is grey now: It had already turned into the colour of mourning when we lost our first little girl:
Before the mother of this little one even was born.

You keeps looking rather healthy considering the years of sickness and your high age:
If you will get some more mercy time you will be 84 into spring.

I who know you as good as I know myself has seen the sings long before your first stroke.
Small thing like a sudden tiredness after the grandchildren?s visits or the tiredness during a theatre evening.
Even before you get so sick the years took out their tribute.

Those beloved wonderful hands of you!

How much have I and the rest of our family to thank them for?

They have warmed us during cold nights, they cradled new small people throw their first nights here at earth and they always comforted your love ones.

They helped delivered three small wonderworks to us but they also had to berry one of them in a white little coffin.

Day and night they have worked for all of us and still today your hands are marked from labour.

If I asked you to take down the moon I know you would try it.
In fact you hade done more difficult things for us than that.

As I see you smile at the baby I remember another time in another life in another country where a miracle just had taken palace. You carried your first daughter with so much pride and love that I just law quite in my bed watching you two.
This was a moment for your two alone: A time for a father and her daughter.

I always loved your hands.

But the first time they carried me I cant to my sorrow remember.
The year was 1945 and the war was over.
You and your mum was at home in Sweden for visiting your family after 5 difficult years.
And someone in the family had dragged a boring foster baby around.
Could you possible take care of the baby so the older people hade a chance to talk in peace?

I know today that you had a rough time behind:
You was interned in on of the Germany working camp and there you ended up whit the tuberculosis.
At the peace came you was at hospital.
You recovered. The girl you loved didn?t.

But you took care of me and I know today that I was in good hands
Cause I was that foster child.

Since then you have taken care of our children and now you do the best you can for our grandchildren.

Carefully I take your hands in my and kisses them whit all my love.

I feel as if an is could shadow behind me make me remember that soon I and the rest of our family have too manage our live whiteout you and I can not just handle the thought.


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