"I have a secret, my father is Steve Jobs."

A heartbreaking story between a thirsty for love daughter and her successfull yet imperfect father. 

During the last year or so of his life, she was there as his health faded. She’d given up on the possibility of some kind of “grand reconciliation,” but you get the sense from her writing that she still loved her father, in spite of everything. 

Three months before he (Jobs) died and during one of her numerous visits to his death bed, the Brazilian Buddhist monk by his side possibly suggested the means of redemption.

The touching of the feet...  was for both of you.

“It’s a good idea to touch his feet,” Rinpoche said, putting his hands around my father’s foot on the bed. “Like this.”

I didn’t know if the foot touching was supposed to be for my father, or for me, or for both of us.

“Okay,” I said, and took his other foot in its thick sock, even though it was strange, watching my father’s face, because when he winced in pain or anger it looked similar to when he started to smile.

“That feels good,” my father said, closing his eyes.

Source: https://www.vanityfair.com/news/2018/08/lisa-brennan-jobs-small-fry-steve-jobs-daughter