He holds my hand.  The hand that is still strong.  Yet works no more.  I look at him.  This man that gave me life.  This man that has been my confidant, advocate, role model and father.  I gaze into his eyes.  He's still so handsome.  He smiles and kisses me.  He's happy.  Content.  He knows no pain or ache.  I say, "Let's walk for a bit." He shuffles.  Reminders for him to pick up his feet.  I bristle.  This once fiercely independent, stubborn man. . . shuffles.  I choke back the sobs that ... View Post