My hand in Kathleen’s
I feel the softness of her hand
One that has been institutionalized
For years

She held my hand and stroked it
I did the same
It’s not the same as 50 years ago
BUT, here we are 50 years later
As if…

Sitting side by side
In the dining room
Of her home
Home, a shared room in a long term care facility,
A nursing home or whatever you want to call it
It’s her home, it’s what she knows.

Sitting side by side
While she listens to the music
my eyes take in
Her rhythm
I watch her lean her head back in her
Wheelchair,
her eyes shut
listening to the music,
keeping time with her feet,
a smile on her face
She wears sheer joy. She is joy.

That’s what joy and contentment look like

I need to not ask her questions
Sometimes
Because her joy
Changes to pain

Pain
Her face switches briefly as the pain looks
Unbearable for her
Almost as quickly
She changes back to her current world
She smiles

I went and did something different for

Mothers Day
Something I haven’t done for 50 years

I went and held the hand of the
place I came from,
The place of my home.

That visit I learn that my hands and feet are the same exact size as hers.