105

105: Not the temperature here (yet).

One hundred and five years ago today, my paternal grandfather was born in the Quad Cities.  He left his native place as a young man for the Southwest, married a home-grown gal and had three sons.  My father was his youngest child.  

I've been wanting to visit my grandparents' grave for many months.  I hadn't been since my grandmother died when I was a child. This morning, I was contemplating taking some time to make the trip across the busy metroplex--it's just 25 miles to the cemetery--when, without my saying anything about it, my mother said in passing as she dated a check, "Today is the anniversary of your grandfather's birthday." I took this as a sign.

At last, it was good to stand over the place where my grandparents had been laid to rest.  

As I got up from polishing the stone, I looked at the familial names etched in it, and I thought, "Someday, it will be you."  It dawned on me that may not have grandchildren to come and polish a stone over my head, but I didn't let that unknown shake me.

I know that all my days are in God's hands.  What comes after, that is also in his hands.  I was just glad that he let me be here today.