I put my hand up and he took my hand. I'd never had a handshake like that one. He smiled down at me and I smiled back. That was the moment I knew for sure I was going to make it.

The hands of those I meet are dumbly eloquent to me. The touch of some hands is an impertinence. I have met people so empty of joy, that when I clasped their frosty finger-tips, it seemed as if I were shaking hands with a northeast storm. Others there are whose hands have sunbeams in them, so that their grasp warms my heart. It may be only the clinging touch of a child's hand; but there is as much potential sunshine in it for me as there is in a loving glance for others. A hearty handshake or a friendly letter gives me genuine pleasure.

I can feel the twinkle of his eye in his handshake.

I don't remember who came up with the handshake idea, but it was a great one.

One of my friends from our group is having terrifying flashbacks.

We watched them pull her mother out of the water on the boat next to us. I was sort of holding Carol Ann. She wanted to go to her mother. Another man saw his wife floating. He was crying on my chest.