Unknown History of Someone's Hands

The other day I went with my daughter to the Alzheimer's Unit at a senior living complex. She plays piano there for the residents on occasion as they eat lunch.

As I sat and listen my attention was captured by an elderly gentleman. He had finished eating and was just sitting, in his wheelchair, staring blankly. As I began to wonder about his life, he moved to take off the over-sized bib he was wearing. The process took at least 10 minutes.

Perhaps 10 minutes doesn't seem like a long time, but it is for a such a small task as removing a bib.

First he pulled a corner of the cloth up to wipe his mouth.

Slowly, he reached back to undo the Velcro behind his neck. It was painstakingly laborious for him.

With unsteady, shaking fingers he brought the bib to his lap and began to fold it.

As he folded in a methodical and strained manner, I noticed the music coming from the piano. My daughter was playing a Beethoven song. Moonlight Sonata. Melancholy. Almost haunting, yet lovely.

The music seemed to speak to the condition that had become this man's life. And I wondered at his hands. I wondered at all they had done before the painful removal of a bib.

Perhaps those hands had preformed surgery at one time. The steady, precise skills of a doctor.

Maybe they built cabinets. A carpenter connected with wood through the patient movement of a chisel and a block plane.

Or maybe those hands played music. A violin. A guitar, piano. Maybe they played Moonlight Sonata. Maybe the song was played for someone the man loved, as Beethoven had written and played it for someone he loved.

After the bib was carefully placed on the table, the man resumed sitting still, staring. He seemed to have nothing to do and nowhere to go.

My daughter began playing another song. The man sat. I wondered if he was listening to the music. Thinking about something? How could I know.

He folded his hands in his lap. As quiet as the whisper of his life and what his hands had once been doing. Working. Playing. Reaching around someone he loved. Wiping a tear from the face of his child. Brushing his dog. Writing a letter to his mother. Cooking. Raking. Waving. Praying. Playing a piano.

But now quiet. Still.