Hands

Posted by Lillian Coury in HandPrints Stories & Videos | 0 comments

Gently massaging his wrist, I held his hand in both of mine. He was Adeeb, a Syrian who had come to the United States in the 1930’s. Even when I was a little girl in Sunday School, this elderly man had seemed old. He carried candies in his pocket, and he smiled, laughed, or listened intently to adults and children alike. As I grew older and went out into the world, I saw him in church when I returned home for major holidays.

I made a life for myself, and prospered. But I had a dismal track record in relationships with men. After my second divorce, I was in such a state of despair that I could barely stand to be in my own skin. Moved to do something, I was struck by a novel idea: do something for someone else! My mother mentioned that Adeeb had suffered a stroke and was in a neighboring hospital, so I decided to visit him.

Despite the stroke, he smiled, laughed and was genuinely happy to see me. I had gone there to do a good deed for him, but his healing energy bathed me.

Time passed, and we visited regularly. When Adeeb’s wife died, I attended the funeral. He seemed both at a loss and at peace, and I stepped up my visits. He cooked wonderful Syrian dinners, and we talked about business and my dating adventures, laughing as we shared stories about our lives.

Delicious Syrian Meals

Our relationship evolved into a mutually unique friendship. We were selfish about it, not inviting others to join our dinners; our phone conversations were never overheard. I referred to Adeeb as “my adopted grandfather” as a simple way to express our special bond, but the term was grossly inadequate.

As he grew older in years, his body weakened. His calls were less frequent, so I increased my visits. His cooking became saltier and the taste of some dishes was off. My beloved Adeeb was beginning to fail. He fell and sprained his wrist, which was slow to heal. Holding his hand and massaging the aching wrist, my heart brimmed with love. I knew I had been forever changed.

As he grew increasingly frail, my visits shifted to his hospital bedside. We spoke of our love for each other, and he assured me that I’d find a man to love me long and well. I hoped I might meet such a person in time to receive Adeeb’s seal of approval, but John and I found each other a few weeks after his passing. Yet I knew he was smiling down upon us. Adeeb loved me in a way that made me feel special and deserving, and somehow taught me to love bigger and better than I had loved before.

I love, and am loved in return.

And, Adeeb provided a rich legacy. I still reach for another’s hand – whether to simply connect, to reassure, or to transmit strength and relieve sadness.

Photo: Candy By Creative Tools
Photo Syrian Food By Hands