I Held his Hand
Last night I held the hands of a dying man.
Last night he held my hand . . . still living, in this moment.
This moment . . . is all we have.
Till the end of our time our lives are held in every single moment.
The love in a mother and fathers’ eyes.
The flash of a sunset and warmth of a fire and smell of Fir.
Graduations and births and marriages and deaths.
Each a moment throughout the centuries of lives.
So, I held his hand, this friend of mine,
This dying friend whom I regard so highly.
I thought of all the moments of his life,
That I know so little of but that does not matter.
Only this moment matters, this holding.
This caring, this loving, this embrace of our common humanity,
As we stand before the centuries and millennia of all those lives
Echoing down and through time.
This is why we live our lives and do our work.
For each other . . . To hold the hands
Of a dying friend.
Thank you, Earl . . . this one is for you.
David McCullough
April 3, 2025