As I sit on the side of her hospital bed watching her sleep, I gaze down at our hands, mine holding hers gently.   Her fingers twist and turn with arthritis, their knuckles large and knobby.  For the first time in quite awhile, my hands look young to me.  The blue rivers of her veins are covered by layers of skin that appear to be as thin as gossamer, as fragile as butterfly wings.  My own thinning skin looks suddenly robust and dense, merely sharing hints of the blood that flows below in contrast to this elderly woman’s near x-ray like … Continue reading Hands of Wonder