Memories Held by My Hands

I apologize for the last-minute submission, but...
I would like to participate in Crystal-ru's project, "#Hands".

When my eldest daughter was in elementary school,
it was my daily routine
to give her a massage after she got into bed.

She loved using her body since she was a baby,
and ever since she started walking at nine months old,
my eldest daughter played outside every day.
She said she wanted to do it herself,
and the cheerleading she started at age four
turned into very hard training
once she entered elementary school.
Placed on a team with older students,
my little girl, who was short and lacked physical strength,
did her absolute best.
By the time practice ended and we returned home,
she would fall asleep instantly on the back seat of my bicycle.

Her whole body was stiff from chronic muscle pain...
Seeing this, I started giving her massages.
After her bath, it was decided that I would stretch her thighs, knead her calves, and finish with a foot massage.

My eldest daughter loved this foot massage.

First, I would carefully rotate her ankles. I would rotate her left foot gently, as she had a habit of spraining it.
Next, I would stretch and rotate each of her toes
one by one.
Then, I would interlace my fingers between her toes
and rock them back and forth.

The child who would make a fuss saying "Ouch!" during stretches would go quiet and relax her body.

I would knead the base of her big toe on the sole of her foot and slowly press down to the arch.
I would do the same for the base of her little toe, pressing with both of my fingers.

Along the way, for some reason, I would feel as if I were the one being massaged.
I would move my fingers while imagining (or rather, sharing the sensation of) "how good it feels to be pressed here."

I would fold her soles vertically, stretch her insteps, and rub around her heels.
I would also gently stroke her insteps along the bones with the knuckles of my clenched hands.
If it hurt, she would flinch, so I would apologize and adjust the pressure of my hands.
Once more, from the base of her big toe to the arch,
I would carefully press with the thumbs of both my hands.

By the time I reached this point, I could hear her breathing in sleep.
"It's okay now. It seems she was able to fall asleep peacefully."
My heart would feel full.
While watching my eldest daughter's face
as she slept so comfortably,
my own hands would feel warm and glowing.

She eventually quit cheerleading because she got tired of the interpersonal relationships specific to girls,
but the foot massages continued even after she became a middle school student,
though the frequency decreased.

My eldest daughter didn't like being touched,
so she wouldn't let me hug her or press my cheek against hers,
but the foot massage became an
important form of physical affection between us mother and daughter.

Even now, the memories of those days remain in my hands.
The sensation of the cold, hard parts
of my daughter's soft soles
loosening up and becoming warm.
By the bedside with the lights dimmed,
my sharpened senses exploring only with my hands.

Does my eldest daughter remember?
It's okay if she doesn't.
If the peace she felt in her soles so long ago
has connected even a little bit to her strength to live,
there is nothing that would make me happier.
"Please, live your life to the fullest."
It sounds dramatic, but truly,
that is the only thing I ask.🙏