“Your grandmother would like to speak,” I told the guests.
“I’m going to interpret what she says.”
Evelyn lifted her hands.
They were small, with fingers curved by age.
But her signing was clear.
“My name is Evelyn.
I’m ninety years old today.”
I repeated her words aloud.
“I’ve lived at that house for eleven years, and almost nobody has had a conversation with me.”
The guests grew quiet.
Evelyn continued.
“My daughter tells you I’m the heart of this family.
But since my husband died, she has hardly asked me anything about myself.”
Patricia lowered her glass.
I could feel my voice beginning to shake, but Evelyn kept signing.
“People bring me to the table and set food in front of me.
They talk around me.
They decide things about me.
But being deaf doesn’t mean I have nothing to say.”
I looked at Ben.
He had tears in his eyes.
Then Evelyn turned toward me.
“This young woman knelt down in front of my wheelchair and asked my name.”
She paused.
“She wanted to know who I was.”
I translated every word.
“And if this family doesn’t want her, I do.”
Evelyn reached for my hand.
Then she looked directly at Ben.
“Benjamin, your grandfather learned to sign in one summer because he wanted to ask me to a dance.”
I smiled through my tears.
“How long do you think you’ve got?”
A few people laughed softly.
Ben didn’t.
He walked toward his mother.
“Mom, what did you say about Nora?”
Patricia looked around the tent.
The photographer was standing nearby, and the reporter was watching.