7/25/17
Every time I'm there, I always expect to find you milling about somewhere, whether you're fixing something, trimming the lawn, sitting in a chair and admiring the garden. I know that I won't really see you, but for me you're still there.
There are moments when I think about the end of my days. As I'm breathing my last breath, a man walks up to me. He's dressed up in a nice suit and tie, his face is young and timeless, and about him there's an air that is seemingly familiar. "Michael George Heath?", he says. "Yes, that's me, or at least that's what I was known as." He takes a long look at me, then says a phrase I haven't heard in a long time. "Named after your Grandpa" , and suddenly I see the twinkle in his eyes, and the proud smile that crosses his face as he says "Welcome home, now tell me your story."
