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 in hospital room 307 – along with
family and tears and wonderings about, “What’s next?”
With his left hand still on his dad’s bony shoulder,
he reached for his father’s right hand with his right hand.
He held it. He moved it. He lifted it. He wanted his
dad to give him some sign or signal with a grab
or a grasp telling all he knew they were here.
There was no response – but he didn’t give up.
He then slid his left hand down to his dad’s left hand.
His two hands were now holding his dad’s two hands.
He was gentle because the arthritis had made
both hands so bumpy and boney.
Holding his daddy’s hands, he remembered
his first bicycle days. These two hands had lifted
him onto his 2 wheel bike and walked him around
the block 100 times – till he got the trick of it.
His dad was his training wheels. This saved money.
His dad’s hands had fed him and led him
and showed him how to throw a football
and how to hold a hold a fishing rod.
There still was no sign. No signal.
His dad was unconscious the whole time.
His sister said, “Let’s pray!” –
and they all began the Our Father –
all holding hands that were connected
to their dad's hands and at the “Amen”
he suddenly twitched and voiced an “Amen.”
and died surrounded by love
and hands and family. Amen.
© Andy Costello, Reflections, 2011
