She held my hand

really tight

& wouldn't let go,

this old lady

who I was chatting with

during a break

from a Christmas choir program.

Seated in a chair,

she was dressed elegantly 

in a fluffy coat & flowing skirt.

Her grip on my hand stayed tight

as she looked up at me.

"Would you like to hear something special?"

she asked.

"Sure," I answered.

She continued, "When I was in the hospital for several weeks with pneumonia, I was alone because it was covid times & no visitors were allowed. But I never felt alone."

"How was that?" I asked.

She looked at me with earnest eyes, "I felt my mother with me. And my daughter. I felt them. I felt them."

 

Her mother was of course

long dead & her adult daughter had died a few years earlier.

 

I felt tingles of joy

as she told me her story,

squeezing my hand tightly the whole time.

 

Of course, of course, 

I thought,

when the living

are close to dying

(although this old lady made it through after herculean medical efforts including a tracheotomy!),

the dead come

to give strength & comfort.

 

You are never alone.

 

She released my hand,

I kissed her forehead

& returned to my chair

to hear more songs

of joy & wonder.