Anna Williams, Dementia

“Even in the late stages of Alzheimer’s, my father was quietly himself. He couldn’t remember, or even speak, but the way he walked and the way he carried himself, it was deeply familiar, especially his hands. Realizing this was a gift; the person I thought I lost was still there, and still the father I knew. I decided to go to his memory care residence and photograph the hands of his fellow friends and community members. Nothing was planned; I just showed up with a beautiful bouquet of flowers. Each person helped me pick a flower, and they would gently hold it in front of my lens. I kept thinking about the juxtaposition of their weathered hands and the new, delicate petals. Their hands told a story of all the things held, loved and done in their lives. Each resident would peer down at the fragile flower that also one day would wither away. It was almost a childlike wonder. Maybe perhaps in that moment , their spirits were blooming with an awareness of a child, once again.”

—Anna Williams