Medical Humanities
Grandpa Teddy
David Haughey
His hands were so strong.
As a child I remember his grip
And feigned grimace as I
Squeezed his hand with my tiny fingers.
I felt so powerful.
My hand now envelops atrophied digits,
Crooked and swollen from disuse,
Bruised from falls and accidents and life.
Fragile beneath my grasp; a skeleton,
An artifact of what once was.
My grandfather, the immaculate banker,
His handshake was his calling card.
His word and his bond.
Strength ebbing, his failing grip releases my hand
As he adjourns the board meeting,
One last time.
Deputy Editor's Comment