In these hands

Yesterday, the children in my daughter's fifth grade class visited with their elder buddies. The children made "squeezies" for their buddies which are balloons filled with wheat berries that are good for squeezing. "Abbie" had the most magnificent smile. "Its nice" she told her buddies when they placed the red balloon into her spindly hands. I pressed my hand around hers and told her to squeeze. "Doesn't' it feel good," one of the children said to her. Her hands were cold. The squeezing caught her attention. I imagine it felt good to loosen her clenched fingers around the soft ball, move blood into her tight writsts and forearms.

A. reminded me of my grandmother who also sat for many years in a wheelchair in the activities room of a nursing home or in the room she shared with one or two other old woman. Her cheeks were like ivory, smooth and full. She wore a watch on each wrist, ironically, since time had long stopped moving in a singular direction. Her hands mostly rested now in her lap no longer busy stirring sauce, sweeping floors, folding laundry. I sometimes wear her silver two piece diamond wedding ring and am reminded of how much she did with the beautiful hands that I wish I could hold again.

When the children left the activities room, the space grew suddenly silent. The woman resting in their chairs sat in a large circle carving out a wide cavern in the still space. All movement had ceased. For those not sleeping, blue, green and brown eyes darted around the room.