It’s amazing how something as simple as a man’s hands can tell so much about him. His hands were large, wide across the palms with short fingers. They were strong, and worn, the lines revealing a wisdom that only comes with age. These hands were accustomed to dirt and grease; guns and steering wheels. These hands raised children, wiped dirty faces, wrote checks for school trips, scout clubs, and weddings. These hands caught fish, grilled burgers, and racked pool balls. These hands voted for the things that mattered most to the people that mattered most to him. Most importantly these hands held the hands of another, the love of his life. He held her hands in marriage, in childbirth, in health and in sickness. He held her hands until the end. My son has these hands, and so does his father. They inherited the wide palms, the large fingers and deep lines, but they also inherited his integrity, his wisdom, and his quiet strength. I’m thankful for these hands and the way they shaped a family. We will miss these hands and the man who used them to bring about so much good in his lifetime.