Communicating

This morning Margie didn’t seem to recognize me at first, then smiled. Rolled her to where I can sit beside her. She reached out to take my hand, intertwining her fingers as we used to, squeezed my hand, stroked it with her other one, all in silence. I talked softly, reassuring, how I enjoyed her actions and feelings. Earlier I downloaded the words of some songs we both enjoyed, printed them on pocket cards. Yesterday I remembered to bring them, and sang some of the songs softly for her that she really enjoyed. Forgot the cards today, but sang the few lines I remembered. Now communicating is so minimal, so slight, so subtle — a touch, a smile, eyes tearing. I’m torn between decades of rich memories and today’s slight touches.