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


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