Sully's hands, my hands

Yesterday was two weeks since my Sully flew. I think back on his six days with us and how glorious they have become in my mind. What stays with me most is the sunshine, our house filled with it, the cocoon feel of never leaving it. I know I cried, cried at knowing what was coming, but I could hold him in my arms and kiss his face and lips and stroke his little soft hands.

Oh his precious hands. They would curl up near his face, and even in his last moments his hands drew my notice, crossed up by his face, with his cheek resting on his forearm and my breast. So many times I would run my fingers over his fingers, his palm, the back of his hand, and marvel at the softness, the exquisite form and beauty in such tiny proportion.

Why did I marvel so much at them? In our last ultrasound they curled up so tightly by his face, almost folding in on themselves, that we were certain they were deformed. Even the technician made a comment about it, wanting us to be as prepared as possible. So much outwardly could have been deformed; yet, he was absolutely, exquisitely beautiful in form. And his hands were perfect.

Their image stays with me even now because, in the days since he has left, I realize they are my own hands. As I have curled up with his blanket in tears and sleep I notice how my own hands find their way to my face and curl inward as I try to find sleep. They curl so much so that when I wake sometimes they ache from how far inward they try and bend.

I cry the first time I realize that Sully and I have something so unique in common – somehow it is a connection even after he is gone. I have his hands, something of his to keep with me forever. And truly, he was of me, resembling me even in this small thing I must have done also since I was in my mother’s womb. Our hands curl inward and find our face, mine and Sully’s. How tender and sweet that is to me.