GOING HOME

I hobbled off the bus, my artificial hips giving me their usual grief from sitting still too long. Looking toward the huge double gate at the end of the bright white gravel pathway, I saw him, waiting for me.

Vigor. He'd outlived his son, my father. Even at this distance, I could see his ageless, smiling face. The blood came back into my stride. Speeding up, I waved to the man who'd shaped my early life with endless summers of swimming, fishing, and laughter.

I'd been away a long time.

I shouted, "Open up the gates, Grampa, I'm coming home."