Never Forget The Hands That Raised You

My late father was a woodworker, he was in a major accident where he took most of the trauma to the skull/face.

When I first went into see him after his major reconstruction surgery, I didn’t recognize him due to the surgeons shaving his facial hair and pumping his body full of saline fluid.

When I walked into the room with the doctor I even said “this isn’t my father” the doctor reassured me it was.

I walked over to the man on the bed picked up his hand and looked at the calloused hands of a woodworker that raised me.

There was no question that this man was my father.

Hands are like faces they tell the story of that persons life.

credit Subliminal_Image

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