“The night before, my father saw me crying — something he doesn’t see often. I was lost in one of those self-pity moments. The next morning, I watched him walk down the driveway as the garbage truck arrived. He said softly, ‘I want to pray with Harold for you.’ Then, our garbage man — a stranger — knelt beside my father, praying for me as tears streamed down my face. Even through Alzheimer’s, my father’s heart remembers love.”
(Link Below)