Irene – my dear room mate for a week

Not long ago, I had the joy of sharing a hospital room with a very special woman for two weeks. Irene, at 92, was a spitfire when she was lucid, as endearing as a 2-year-old when she was not. She was afraid of the world at night and I would pull up a chair just to hold her hand through the dark hours to assure her that all was well. Her response was so precious. She was not able to speak well, but when she was very pleased, she would take my hand and place it on her cheek, then she would continue to hold it, squeezing now and then to make sure I knew she was awake and wanted me beside her. 
Irene’s daughter, Karen came everyday, joy lighting up Irene’s face, just at hearing her voice. 
This is not the best quality of a picture as it was with an old phone, but it speaks volumes about what bedside means to me.