The Hand-Holding

December 22, 2011
Day 12

So I sit, a daughter holding my mother’s hand.  At this point, there aren’t a lot of words being exchanged between the two of us.  At least not verbally.  The words between us are now communicated through our eyes.  Suddenly, this snapshot hits me as a stark reminder that I will never have this moment to share with a daughter of my own.  Who will hold MY hand when I am dying?

If you liked this excerpt, and would like information on the book when it’s published
SIGN UP FOR MY FREE NEWSLETTER!

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s