Her Hand

I could only reach her hand.

I sat in my mobility chair. She was sleeping in a hospital bed. With the rail up, I could only reach her left hand.

It was warm in my own hand and pulsed with life. Sometimes it twitched while she slept.

I could feel her veins on the back of the hand. Her fingernails were too long and thick, like talons. Her skin was soft.

The hand was alive, because she was alive. Warm and soft... a sleeping hand.

The doctor and nurses arrived. We signed many papers. When we were ready, the professionals got to work. I held her hand as they removed her from the bypass machine that was keeping her alive.

I could only reach her hand. I clung to it, warm and soft, as I said goodbye.

I clung to the hand as I said goodbye to my mother.

She couldn't be dying. Her hand was warm and alive.

I held her hand as I said goodbye.

I said goodbye to my mother.

In loving memory of Lois Ann Orlando.

November 30, 1945 to September 25, 2022

A Piece of My Heart is in Heaven

Angie C. Orlando

March 2023

Permission to share is granted.