Vocal Hands

In the aftermath of a Christmas party, my mother and her fellow residents sit, some happy, some sad, some chatty, some silent, some unsettled, some snug, some active, some sleeping. All the varied faces, the many personalities, the long life of infinite stories that brought each one to this place.

I have no idea what each one has seen, the sorrows, the joys, the challenges overcome and the pent up emotions, long-since locked inside minds that are now, to varying degrees, too confused to give voice to them, at least by conventional means.

Yet, sitting with my mother and a lady from a different floor, I sense some basic things they want to say, not from words but from demeanour, body language and eyes. Above all, I feel the need to give and receive love, through gentle hands clinging firmly to mine or to my shoulder or leg, these lovely, frightened souls giving voice through their hands, a voice to love and their essential humanity, a communication I receive loud and clear.