Page 17 - Holding Hands

Holding Hands
slightly bent forward, and Winston was pushing her along. It was so touching to see that, even though they weren’t able to hold hands, as it seemed to take almost all of Winston’s strength just to hold on to the handles as he pushed her along, they were still taking their “walks” together.
I watched after them for awhile, and I no- tice that Winston would stop every half block or so and put his hand on her shoulder. Sometimes, he would take her hand into his and just stand there for a moment or two, seemingly catching his breath at the same time before he would move around to the back of her wheel chair and push her along for another half block or so and then repeat the process.
I could feel my throat swell as I fought back tears: I just wasn’t prepared to see this altera- tion of such an old familiar sight. Adele had suf- fered a stroke six months earlier, and only re- cently, my mother said, had they begun their new walking routine.
My mother decided to move into an “elderly play- ground” home (as she called it), a year or so later. I came back to help her clean out the house and put it on the market for sale. Every day that I was there packing, cleaning, and moving, I saw Winston and Adele on their morning journeys.
Winston had long since retired, and they had as much time as they needed to take their morning walk that had once upon a time taken less than thirty minutes. It was just like the year before
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