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.