February 17, 2015

ARTHRITIC   HANDS 

He stood there at his dad’s hospital bed –

rubbing his dad’s shoulder – knowing

there was only so much time left in his old body.

His dad must have been down to 144 pounds by now.

He knew death was now in that room along with the whole

family and tears and wonderings about, “What’s next?”

With one hand still on his dad’s bony shoulder,

he reached for his father’s hand with his other hand.

He held it. He moved it. He lifted it. He rubbed it.
He wanted his dad to give him some kind of a signal 
with a grab or a grasp that he knew we were all here.

At first there was no response – but he didn’t give up.

He then took his dad’s hand into his hand again.

He held both hands. He was gentle – because the

arthritis in both of his father's  hands had made 
him bumpy and boney.

As he was holding his daddy’s hands with his hands,
obvious memories flowed from his dad to him.

He remembered his daddy’s hands lifting him
onto his 2 wheel bike as he walked him 10 times 
around the block. His daddy’s hands were his training wheels.

His remembered his daddy’s hands feeding him 
and leading him and showing him how to throw
a football and how to hold a fishing rod.

Their hands were joined spontaneously in a circle 
around their daddy.  Their dad was unconscious, 
but they were very conscious of this being close
to being a last moment with daddy. They said 
a  loud "Amen" together. Suddenly their dad said 
an added “Amen” - as his eyes sparkled. They 
closed their eyes and held their hands tighter. 
Two minutes later he was dead - surrounded 
by love with all hands were on deck: family.

For some reason they separated hands and started
clapping, clapping, and clapping - tears, tears,
tears.

© Andy Costello, Reflections, 2015