After 87th

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

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