There's someone in there

I visited a local health care facility to meet with a gentleman I've been working with on a book project. As I prepared to go down one hallway, I stopped because I heard his voice. I'd know it anywhere, and I recognized immediately that he was reading aloud.

I turned to follow the path to his voice in the quiet hallway, where his words were the only sound. There he sat reading from a collection of short stories to a woman in a wheelchair. As he continued, I approached quietly, not wanting to interrupt him. I didn't want to disrupt this "conversation" they were having, though the woman sat motionless.

As I studied the woman, her eyes moved from him to me. As he turned the page, he looked up. He smiled and greeted me. I knew the identity of this woman, his wife, who had a stroke about two years ago. As he introduced me to her, I stepped to her side and gently took her left hand. She squeezed it as I made eye contact again. I watched the tiniest movements of her mouth, which did not open, but revealed the effort she was making to create the seedlings of a smile.

Our eyes did not stray as I encouraged her husband to continue reading. She gave the smallest nods when I said it was nice to meet her and called her by name.

I knew that there was someone "in there," a vibrant, energetic woman betrayed by her body. I knew there was someone in there who understood how simple eye contact and the human touch are so precious in the lonely quiet of her world. I moved my fingers slightly to see if she would still respond, and she did.

And then her lips seemed to buzz together, releasing a puff of air as if she wanted to say something. This went on for several minutes. I wasn't sure what she was trying to convey, but it was okay to nod, to acknowledge her effort, to accept the frequent squeezes of her steady hand.

I almost hated to leave but told her to take care and that it was very nice meeting her, and it was, though she said not a word … only communicated with her eyes, an affirmative blink, and her strong fingers, a firm grip on mine, on me.

Yes, there is someone very special "in there" who taught me much in five minutes.

Who led your classroom on life yesterday? Who are you teaching today?