Hey Dad, Give Me A Hand

I spent the last week of March in Mexico on business. The next week dad died. It was that abrupt and that rude. That's the way death always is I think. Unexpected even when it has served notice that it's near and in my experience it is like birth in that it requires effort. I was able to hold vigil at his bedside for two days and sort through the memories and carefully arrange those that were the best. I was able to tell him he had done well and that all was well and that he could let go of this life. But he still fought hard. I held his hand for several hours and found that when I would start to let go that he was holding onto my hand. Surprising in strength I thought at this point; and I was glad, thinking how I appreciate a strong handshake. And I remembered the times in my childhood when I held his hand while learning to ride the new Schwinn or walking the narrow bridge across the channel at Lake Pauline while fishing. I am glad I could hold his hand now when he needed it and I hope that it gave him the assurance that I felt when he would hold mine then.