A history of identity
Oct 01, 2021
2 minutes
The doctor was telling me my dad didn’t survive surgery. I remember wanting to hold his hand one last time and asking if I could. I grew up holding my dad’s hand; it was warm and strong and reassuring.
Weeks before that, I remember watching my dad sleeping in his chair in front of the TV. He was in his 70s. I held my breath,
You’re reading a preview, subscribe to read more.
Start your free 30 days