As we left the house, I knew he was not coming back. He was too sick and weak. This was the beginning of the final goodbye.

Before we left, I helped him shave. Trimmed his nails and eyebrows. Helped him put on a clean shirt and fresh socks.

In the hospital room, I told him I loved him, that I would be with him.

Days later, as I watched him take his final breaths, I held his hand tightly and said sweet things I should have said more often.

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