I parked, gathered up my things (some wrapped candy for E., a couple more pair of socks, my quilting and my purse), pushed in the code and started down the hall of the Garden. I could see Elbert sitting at a table in the dining/tv room. A woman was sitting next to him.... and they were holding hands.
That just sort of puts a knot in your stomach but I knew it meant nothing so I smiled and said hello to them both. I sat down and started to chat, 'who's your friend?' I asked. 'I don't know', Elbert said. He had never turned loose of her hand. The music from the tv picked up tempo and he started moving their hands in time to the music. I had gotten out my camera and snapped a shot or two and that seemed to please Elbert. 'Back up a little', he suggested. 'Oh, you want me to take a picture of the two of you?' I asked. He nodded and pointed toward his friend. 
The scene was one of comfort, I think. The woman was in bad shape in her journey through Alzheimers and here my husband was, holding her hand so she wouldn't be alone or afraid. I wanted to cry, not for jealousy sake but for the memories of the man I had known over 60 years. That caring, loving, kind, gentle human being that I had fallen in love with still lived in the body taken over by this dread disease. I was so grateful that I could still get glimpses of who he was (and still is).
