February will be a year since you left us. As I rummage through old notes this evening, I ran across this one, when I visited you almost a year ago.
Closing my eyes for a moment, I savor a time in the past.
I sat beside you holding your frail thin skinned hand, while we listened to stories being told. Your grip tight to mine as my thumb rubbed your soft skin. And at some point I recall leaning my head against your arm in this tender moment, for to just be with you was pleasing to my soul.
Keystroke Stories 