With these hands

This year we lost an amazing woman, I'm so sad to say that my mother in law, Diana Jane passed away.  I'm not going to write a big post as nothing I could say would do her justice, but I wanted to share two of my favourite photos. I asked Aaron if he was happy for me to share them along with the following poem that was read at her funeral. 

I'd never heard this poem before but Pam Ayres was a favourite of Di's and I think the words are just perfect for her.

With These Hands by Pam Ayres 

With these hands so soft and clean, 

On which I stroke the Vaseline, 

I soothe the fever, cool the heat, 

Lift verrucas out of feet, 

Slap the plasters on the knees, 

Dig the garden, prune the trees, 

And if it doesn’t work at all, 

I throw the mower at the wall. 

With these hands I crack the eggs, 

Floss my teeth, shave my legs, 

Write the cheques, count the fivers, 

Make rude signs at piggish drivers, 

Clean the goldfish, light the fires, 

Pump up half a dozen tyres, 

Feed the hamster, worm the dog 

And decorate the Yuletide log. 

With these hands I block the lens 

When taking photos of my friends, 

This is Mary, this is Fred, 

See their eyeballs all gone red. 

With them I gesticulate, 

I wag a finger, say, ‘You’re late!’ 

Throw them up, say, “Don’t ask me!” 

And, ‘What’s that in your hand? Let’s see!’ 

With these hands, I fondly make, 

A brontosaurus birthday cake, 

I’m sorry for the shape it’s in, 

But half of it stuck in the tin. 

I pop the corn, I pick the mix, 

I whack the cricket ball for six, 

I organise the party game, 

And clean up things too vile to name. 

No pair of jeans do I refuse, 

No Levis, Wranglers or FUs, 

I wash them fast, I mend them quick, 

I sew through denim hard and thick, 

For no repair job makes me frown, 

I take them up, I let them down, 

I do the fly, I do the rip, 

I do the knee, I do the zip. 

And with these hands I dab the eyes, 

Officiate at fond goodbyes, 

As in the earth we gravely dig 

The late lamented guinea pig. 

I bow my head, cross my chest, 

And lay his furry soul to rest, 

Reflecting that, on many a day, 

I could have helped him on his way. 

I greet the folks who bang the door, 

Fill the mouths that shout for more, 

Scrape the trainers free of muck, 

Gut the fish and stuff the duck, 

I cart the shopping, heave the coal, 

Stick the plunger down the bowl, 

Take foreign bodies from the eye 

And with these hands I wave Goodbye.