HANDS

The paternal grandfather's health continues to decline. He is changing. He is becoming quieter, smaller, more withdrawn. These changes are physical as much as they are mental, emotional, spiritual.

The parts of his body that are least changed are both of his hands. They are thinner. But, they retain the most character of him, other than his face. His hands are now the most active parts of his body. They reach for things and people. They motion. They express emotion. They wave away and invite. They signal "yes" and "no." They "sigh" in exasperation.

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Categorical chronology number one: work.

Hoe. Pick and shovel. Parachute cord. Rifle and grenade. Hammer. Saw. Ropes and pulleys. Pruning shears.

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My hands are soft once again. They knew boxes and books for a number of years. The pulp of both robbed my hands of oils and moisture. They became dry. They thirsted. They were working hands. Now that I sit at a desk, they are hands of relative "leisure."

They do not carry stories like the hands of the paternal grandfather. His hands are cartographic. They are maps and histories. Scars speak of shrapnel from an exploding soda bottle, a misguided hatchet strike, fishhooks, the blades of pocket knives, burns.

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Categorical chronology number two: food.

Sweet corn and squirrel. C-rations. A bowl of thin soup. Home cooked meal. Meat and potatoes. Bottle of beer. Fork. Steak knife. An empty Snickers candy bar wrapper.

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As the paternal grandfather's body wastes away, the parts of his body least affected are his hands and face. Perhaps that is why they retain the most character. His hands are least affected due to their intricacy. They are miracles of bone, tendon, ligament, muscle, and skin. They are a multitude of pieces, in which the whole is definitely greater than the sum. The movement protects them.

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Categorical chronology number three: family.

His wife's hand. Her naked body. His infant children held close—one, two, three. Spankings. Embraces. A soft nudge from the nest. Waving goodbye. His infant grandchildren held close. Medication and machines and a feeding tube. Soil thrown on a coffin. His infant great-grandchildren held close. A walker. Rails of a "hospital" bed. Folded against one's chest.

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Speaking of cartographies: his hands and my hands share a dendritic pattern of visible arteries and veins. There is a soft blue system of streams just beneath the surface of our skins.

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Our hands are one of the most effective means of communication that we now have. They grasp one another in greeting. They comfort one another. A small squeeze is a signifier. A grip is another. Yet the gap between the worlds that we currently inhabit is growing and we cannot hold on to one another for much longer. Our hands will fail us.