Grandma's Hands

My grandmother was born in the Taisho era.

She attended a primary school, and after that, she went to a school for Japanese dressmaking.

The profession I knew my grandmother had was a weaver; she had a weaving shed in a corner of her garden where she wove silk fabrics.

When I visited, she would take time off from work to cherish our time together, so I never actually saw her using the loom.

From the time I was in elementary school, I loved taking the train by myself for a two-hour trip to my grandmother's house and spending the whole day with her.

At night, when we slept together, she would look at my hands and teach me various things.

It seemed she could read people's palms.

I remember her telling me that while my palm lines didn't suggest I would be blessed with wealth, I would have good encounters with people; having her touch my hands was very soothing.

My grandmother was a person who had endured many hardships; she married my grandfather through an arranged marriage, and she said that his family business, a fish shop, was very difficult for her to get used to.

It seems my great-grandmother did not have a very good personality, and the bullying was severe; she was not even allowed to eat, and she kept telling me, whenever we were alone, that her first child had a tragic outcome.

My grandmother's hands were wrinkled and dry, but she used to say that those hands were proof of all she had worked for and were something to be proud of.

After that, when my grandfather went to buy fish, he was in a traffic accident that left him disabled, and she supported him all by herself for a long time.

When we went out together, my grandmother would often naturally take my hand.

From when I was a small child until I was over 20, there were times when it hurt and I didn't like it, but looking back now, I think it was a very strong expression of love, and when she held my hand tightly, she must have truly cherished me and the time we spent together from the bottom of her heart.

There was one thing my grandmother never stopped doing, even as she got older: she was always sewing something.

Her very last work was a frog.
"So that you may safely return to where you belong."

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At the end of last year, I had a very wonderful encounter in the world of note.

When I woke up in the morning and came to the world of note, I read a post by my friend, blanche, titled 'About Hands'.

I have been thinking a lot about hands.

Then, from blanche's post, I learned that Crystal-ru is calling for articles related to hands.

I learned about the call for articles related to "Kanji of the Year" and "#Hands".

Regarding "hands," this was a year where I was very conscious of them in my daily life and work.

I realized the importance of hands at my workplace, because a colleague I work with has a disability in one hand, and a member of a sign language circle visits our shop once a week.

In the past, I also wrote a post titled "Connecting Hands."

Hands are what connect people to people, and my fondest memory in life is the hand my grandmother held; this time, I wrote about that memory.

Besides that, connections have been born from various other hands, remaining as memories.

I would like to continue to cherish them from now on.

Blanche, Crystal-ru, thank you for these feelings.