It seems as if he's flipping through blank pages searching for the right words. You cradle his hands for reassurance. He doesn’t remember you so he asks for your name. You oblige, pretending it doesn’t sting. The rhythmic squeezes of his worn hands remind you of his present state, his quiet fortitude in tribulation. The day is drawing closer as you realize the gravity of letting go this time. But eventually you do–because you must. A book ends for one, one chapter for another.