When I was sixteen, I held my dad's hands while on my knees pleading to God for him not to die. "Dad, dad, dad," I cried out, as he lay there on his back with his hands and fingers in firm position grasping the reins of a five gait mare.He was in a place of contentment as he spoke,"Whoa mare, that's a girl " and made those familiar clicking sounds I often heard when I was a little boy watching him ride the horses everyday in the summer. Then in a...