His hands are knarled, too weak to pull or hold. Knarled and weak, like his thoughts, unable to hold them. Life is cruel.
Life is scary...so is letting go.
My hope is in Him.
My dad, who held me as a child, clings to life...his days hold no hope because he doesn't know what hope is.
Such knowledge has been erased with his memories and all-knowing.
So, with My Heavenly Father, I hold him...
