This afternoon, I was sitting in a crowded waiting area, and I was waiting. I was watching the others and I noticed how I was the youngest one there. I saw their faces. Then I saw all of their hands. Hands I imagined holding other hands. Hands I saw holding babies when they were born. Hands that held hammers. Hands that fought, hands that caressed. Hands that were once young, soft and supple but are now aged, dry and wrinkled. Hands that are nervous. Hands that are holding on for more time. Hands that will hold someone's hand for the last time. I looked down and wondered who would be holding mine?