I held his hand in mine.
Said I: you did a lot of things with which I disagree; and, that is OK.
Silent, was he.
Said I: you did a lot of things that hurt; and, for that I forgive you.
Sad, tears starting in his eyes.
Said I: you did a lot for me that made me who I am; and, for that I am grateful.
Tears streamed down his face.
The words were not for him; rather, the words were to free me from a lifetime of bondage.
The prairie welcomed me home, far away from the his 87th.
Nathan A. Busch