My dad grew up on a farm and because of that he always had a strong grip, all those cows to be milked and the pigs to be fed. When I was a boy we would wrestle…he would say “wrassle”. And he would grab me with this inescapable grip and would pin me to the floor. Sometime at the beginning of my high school years I was finally able to shoot for his legs and lift him off his feet. We never “wrassled” again. But he never lost his grip, even as he loses his motor skills his grip is as strong as I remember it. When I feel him grabbing onto my arm I feel he’s grasping for the things he knows, not wanting to let go.