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