it occurred to me today that i might get this spirit from my dad. perhaps his were the whitest knuckles of them all. he fought hard. with every sunrise another battle. i know because i read some of his last journal entries. they betrayed a man, full of bravery, fighting - tooth and nail - determined not to lose his grip.
the problem with white knuckling is what happens when you at last lose your strength. and there's no one there to catch you when you collapse.
we need each other in this journey. we have to learn how to lean on each other and how to be present to be leaned on. i don't think my grip is strong enough.
