Many years ago, when I was an awkward young teen, dad would tease me when we were out as a family. ‘Hold your daddy’s hand,’ he’d say, waving his hand at me. I’d grunt and shuffle away from him, he would laugh and eventually, so would I.

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Yesterday, I was sitting beside his hospital bed, holding his hand, and that’s all I could think of.

I’m holding my daddy’s hand.

This is so hard.

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