Cold Hands

On Monday, I did a house visit. A gentle middle-aged lady was quite ill.

During the week a few of my patients were falling asleep during their appointments. They had been up all night taking turn watching over her. This is a tight community.

This morning, she passed away peacefully at her home. The two nurses at the clinic and I walked over to pay our respects and pronounce the death.

The house was packed with relatives, friends and neighbors. The air was thick and shadows long. I stood at the back and felt my eyes swelter like many around me.

What I most clearly remember is a woman nudging the grandson to go to the bedside and place his hands on those of his deceased grandmother. The young boy initially resisted but in due time walked over and held in his small hands her weathered fingers.

He looked at her and I saw a flash of confusion across his face. He, like the rest of us, was uncertain what it all meant.