20 Nov The Joy We Still Hold
This morning, in a doctor’s waiting room, I sat across from an older woman and a younger woman who had come along to help her. The older woman’s lap was filled with papers. She held a red pen between her fingers, moving through each page with familiar confidence. A circle here. An underline. A note tucked in a margin.
After a while, I stood to get a cup of water. The younger woman was up from her seat, finding a new magazine to read. I said something about how much her companion had brought with her, how immersed she seemed in her work. The caregiver nodded.
“She worked as an editor in New York for many years,” she said. “Now she has Alzheimer’s. Recently she started waking up and asking for a very specific brand of red pens, so we found a box of her favorites.” She looked back at her companion. “Now she spends hours each day editing stories we print out for her. She is so happy when she is holding that pen.”
Back in my chair, I watched the woman lean close to the words on the page. Her pen moved with quick purpose. There was a lightness in her expression. It looked a lot like love.
So much slips away over time. Names. Directions. The thread of a story. And still, there she was, wrapped in something familiar. Fingers curled around a red pen. Editing her world into a shape she recognized.
It is almost Thanksgiving, a holiday centered on gratitude. But sitting there, watching her work, I felt grateful long before any meal or celebration.
Grateful for what remains.
For what we are lucky enough to keep.
For the small joys our hands remember how to hold.