Sometimes we forget how much comfort we can derive from a simple touch.

An elderly Italian woman with chin length pale blonde hair and piercing blue eyes sat in front of a desk that curved around her. Her right arm slid slowly across the table from her right side to her left, and then slowly back. “Push push push push push,” she cheered herself on. After several repetitions, she stopped and looked at the young girl sitting beside her. The girl smiled a huge smile and told her, “one more.” “Push push push push push,” the elderly woman went. When she finished, she once again turned to the girl beside her. “Finito?” The girl nodded. “Yes! You did a great job! Let’s take a rest.”

The girl reaches up to touch the old woman’s hair. “You have really pretty hair.” The grandmother looks at the girl’s long black hair and tells her she has really beautiful healthy hair. The grandmother asks, “How long have you been working here?” The girl tells her, “For about four months now.” The grandmother nods.

The grandmother begins to tell the young girl her story. She tells the story of how it happened, how it affected her right side, and how she ended up here. She talks about the impact on her family. Her granddaughter was around the same age as the girl.

Then she looks up slowly, her eyes with a distant look in them. “Sometimes I ask my mom and dad to take me too.” The young girl puts her hand on the grandmother’s arm. Then her blue eyes look straight into the young girl’s and in that moment, they share a common understanding.

A touch that communicated something words cannot.
Maybe it provided a little bit of support and strength for her to hold on a little bit longer.