He never thought he would live somewhere over ninety, but he was blessed. He often remembers people and places he should have forgotten, but they are as clear as a bell. His movements aren't as well-oiled as they once were, but give him time, and he will reach his destination.

Sometimes, he would have to think very hard to pronounce a name or put a face to it, but give him some time, and he would speak to them as if it were a gift.

He often wondered what it must have been like when he could dress himself, but that seems so unimportant now. And the stains on his shirts are just reminders of last night's supper or a midnight snack.

He shows little emotion when his grandson shaves his week-long whiskers or his granddaughter makes his favorite dessert, but he is smiling inside.

The days mean little to him as each one runs into the next, but he knows his family will visit him one day, and he patiently waits. One by one, they file in, holding his favorite dishes and speaking to him as if he's deaf as well as old. Little did they know he could still hear the buzzing of a fly landing on his piece of apple pie.

He looked at all of them, each a story he could tell as they grew up and he grew old. His great-grandchild would sit close to him, whispering in his ear that she knew he was very old, but she loved him just the same. She asked him why he had no teeth and if he was always this old. Her parents would tell her to quit asking so many questions, but he waved them off and told her to ask him anything, and he'd do his best to remember.

This was his life now, and when they left the house they grew up in, he cried a little, knowing the time would come when he had to say goodbye to everybody and everything he had tried so hard to remember.

His family honored his wishes to stay in his house, where all of his memories live, but time was growing short when he'd have to live in a strange place with people he didn't know, and he prayed to God to let him stay home.

He was ninety-four years old when the angels came to him and took him to a place he had always prayed he would go—a place where he could feel young again and look down at those faces he now remembered so well. Sometimes, he would pay a visit to his great-grandchild as she slept, answering all of her questions and telling her stories of her Mom, whom he missed so much.

She would tell her parents about her talks with him in so much detail that they would pause in disbelief.

Everything is good now as he begins his journey to the place he prayed to go. And he wonders if he will find his grandmother, who made the perfect peach cobbler.

Mike 2025