The Silver Briefcase: How, as an Adult Child, I Learn to Let Go Over and Over

Photo by Liane Metzler on Unsplash

I held my dad’s hand — thumbs like mine, familiar as if I had been holding it for 38 years. His palms were thick and had a specific warmth I remembered from when I was a little girl before he left. As he tried to stabilize himself standing from the bed, he pulled his hand away, showing off for the discharge nurse. Introducing me to her like he was her best…