I walked into his room slowly. It was musty and dark, but I could see well enough to recognize the figure I knew so well, lying motionless in the large bed. He seemed as if his extremely tiny figure would sink deep into the mattress and disappear. I had never seen this once strong and health man, so helpless like this. My chest began to tighten and my hands started to shake, as I realized that I was not dreaming. This was all so real. My Great Grampy was slowly dying.
             My feet dragged me to the other side of the room, where he was laying and I could see him better. He couldn't find even enough energy to raise his head, but as I approached, he blinked his eyes to let me know that he knew I was there.
             I picked up his fragile hand in mine, as tears began streaming down my pale face. I could feel the rough skin of his hands against my soft palm. This man had worked so hard his entire life. Every single scar or callus had a reason for being there.
             He spent summer days in the garden, with his rake or hoe in hand, making sure that not a single weed poked its head up amongst his lush vegetables. By fall, the barns were full of hay that he helped bail, stack on wagons, and then put in the barn. His house was always spotless and all repairs were made on time. Not a single thing got bye him.
             I stood there, not knowing what to say or how to say it. My brain couldn't process all that I was feeling. My heart was tearing in two, but deep in my mind, I knew that this was what was best for him. He was ready to go. The 92 years of his life had been well lived and he was now beginning to suffer, as he held on for life.
             After what seemed like hours, my mother came slowly into the room. She came to my side and gently laid her hand on my shoulder. "Its time to say goodbye. Your Uncle Dave wants to come in and say some words", she said to me in a whisper.
             I couldn't do it. Saying goodbye meant t...