Photo Source: Unsplash I place my hand over Grandma Ruth’s gnarled one. Arthritis has twisted and swollen her hands over the years. I can feel how papery thin her skin is under my fingers. She is lying in a hospital bed. She smiles weakly at me, her lips dry, wincing as she looks me in the face. Her eyes are large and brown and don’t appear watery or faded despite her ninety-two years. There are bandages on her head and arms, with blood leaking through the dressing on her left arm. I...