"If you could choose one object that represents your journey, what would it be and why?" is the question Elaine Zelker asked people before photographing their hands holding an object for her book "The Hand-Some Journey."

Zelker signs copies of her book at 1 p.m. March 22, Moravian Book Shop, 428 Main St., Bethlehem.

Zelker was a nurse when she began her photography project in 2009 after losing her parents in 2006 and 2007. Upon their deaths, she started working in hospice care and would sit with patients, talking to them and holding their hands.

"Being a visual person, I just found myself looking at their beautiful hands, wondering, 'What did they do for a living? What is it about this person? Who did they care for?'" says Zelker, an Easton area resident.

Zelker listened as they opened up about their life stories. She would try to dig deeper beyond the surface conversation and get to know who they really are.

The first person she photographed for the project was Velma, a 97-year-old woman who lived in a nursing home. When asked what she would hold, Velma chose a martini glass because she and her husband owned a bar in Allentown during the 1920s.

She was the bartender. She said it was the only job where people respected her and appreciated her. After Prohibition and the Great Depression, she began working in a sewing factory, which caused her to have gnarled hands over the years.

Social workers and nursing home residents would recommend people for her to photograph. She later began speaking at facilities about her project and people volunteered to be part of it.

She didn't persuade people on what to hold. Interviews helped them discover what they're passionate about because, she says, they would light up when talking.

Each of those photographed in the project received a free 8 x 10 copy of their image with their quote on it.

One of the women she photographed, Gloria, chose to hold hotel keys from when she went to the St. Charles Hotel in Atlantic City in 1942 and married her husband.

The keys symbolized her connection with her husband and the beginning of her life as a mother. Gloria and her husband raised nine orphaned children.

Zelker says many chose to hold religious items because they're in the final stages of their lives and reconnecting spirituality with God.

Ida, a nun, held a crucifix she got 73 years ago and wore and prayed with every day.

"It's not really a book about your mortality and that you're going to die," Zelker emphasizes.

One woman Zelker photographed had dementia, but remembered being a midwife when she was 16- to 20-years-old. She chose to hold baby shoes and a stethoscope.

Her family was confused when they saw the photograph. They said she was a florist her whole life and they weren't aware she had even been a midwife.

Zelker says her photographs often lead to undiscovered truths about people. Sometimes, the family is surprised to learn something new about a loved one.

"In the book, I talk about it's about that dash between your birth date and your death date. What did you do in that dash?" Zelker says.

The youngest person she photographed was Keith, 46. She photographed him in his house because he was dying.

He held Chinese medicine balls that he found soothing. They were also the only things he could hold.

Zelker processed the photograph quickly and gave it to him about one week later. When she arrived with the photo, he cried and said he was waiting for this and loved the photo. Zelker arrived at noon. Keith died five hours later.

"For some people, it truly is their last photo," she says.

After losing her parents, Zelker says she would give anything to be able to sit with them again, hold their hands and listen to their story.

She didn't show the faces of those she photographed so that people can associate the image with someone they know and foster a dialogue with them about their life story.

She hopes those who read her book feel inclined to ask about their loved ones' and elderly ones' stories.

"If we don't ask these questions and listen to their stories, they're going to disappear," she says. "People aren't going to be here for forever and surely their stories won't unless we document them. They aren't a whole biography of people. It's a little part of someone."

For Zelker, the most rewarding part of the project is that she can share these stories as she promised she would. She says there's much more to the people behind their wrinkles and there are stories of love beyond their hands.

If her hands are photographed, Zelker would choose to hold a camera, although she thinks that may change as she gets older.

"The bottom line is to all of this, everyone has an amazing story to tell," Zelker says. "Everyone deserves to have one page in a book that talks about their one little thing in their life that means something to them."

Zelker says she has begun working on a second book and is seeking people to photograph more hands with stories to tell.