Why I usually paint ny nails red

The week before my mother died, she was put into a hospice-like facility.

The nurses were wonderful, but one evening I went to visit and noticed all of her fingernails had been cut really short. Her signature red nail polish had also been removed so that they could see her nail beds.

While it seemed like a small thing, it sent me over the edge. To me, it was the last part of her that made her HER. Her red nails could be counted on like the sun rising every morning. She always made sure her nails looked good! They were always long and never chipped. Whenever I knew I was going to see her, I had to make sure my nails (and hair!) looked good.

After she died, I stopped painting my own nails. And when I did, I did not take care of them. There were days, even weeks when they would be chipped. (I now know that that is one of my signals of my mental health, if my nails, don’t look good, I’m probably not doing well mentally.)

About a year ago, I decided to start getting my nails done again. Nothing major, just a gel manicure, but most of the time I get red polish in honor of my mother.

And now, when I look at my hands, I can see her hands. Her hands created so many wonderful things: paintings, clothing, curtains, food. She could do anything! So to me, red nails, mean that I can anything as well.

Let’s Get Sentered: in finding tiny ways we can honor our loved ones, while in turn caring for our own selves as well