by Misty Dawn - Granddaughter of my brother Mac
jAs I held my grandpa’s hands tonight and kissed them as he lay still,
I thought of all the purpose that those big hands had to fulfill:
As a boy, I know he dirtied them, ‘cause I know Grandpa played,
In the creeks and on the ball field, his hands surely led the way.
In the service of his country, Grandpa’s hands must have been strong;
He was never afraid of hard work and those days must have been long.
He had to be a tough guy, because those pictures couldn’t lie;
I can see my grandpa’s patriotism in that young man’s eye.
Grandpa’s hands are filled with so many of the lessons that he taught;
Of those were commitment and fortitude, you had to work for what you got.
His hands were often calloused and his nails were black with grease,
Because they served as tools to provide for all the needs he had to meet.
Grandpa’s hands were good at high-fives as he cheered us on as we’d compete;
He never sunk low in the bleachers; Grandpa was always on his feet.
You’d hear him shout encouragement as you took your turn at bat,
And even when the third strike was called, Grandpa’s hands would pat your back.
Grandpa’s hands were filled with love, it was never difficult to see
The way he held our grandma’s hands or bounced a grandchild on his knee.
Grandpa’s hands were also filled with giggles as he’d surely find the place
To tickle us even as grown adults to see a smile cross our face.
His hands were conduits to bless us, to baptize us, and to help us heal.
He taught us by his example as he would gather us before a meal.
Grandpa’s hands were filled with spirit, as he’d fold his arms to pray,
He choked back tears quite often as we listened to what he’d say...
His words were sweet and gentle with more faith than I have ever known;
It was in those tear-filled moments that Grandpa brought us home,
Home to a foundation that my Grandfather’s hands have built for us with love,
To a family who we’ll spend forever with, when we meet Grandpa up above.