The Last Stop

My grandpa is on his last leg. He found out he had cancer a few months back and is loosing so much weight week by week. He often hints about closing chapters in his life without really saying it. It is hard to take in. When my grandma died I was not in the country and did not really have a conversation with her before she passed. Now, I am trying to call him here and there to perk him up. I can tell it brings joy to his frail voice. Last weekend on our way up to my cousin's wedding we stopped in for a bit to give him a hug and chat. He gave me an old print of a painting that I always used to stare at when I was a kid. I am really touched and deeply pleased that he decided to give it to me. It smells like smoke and even has a vague discoloration to it that gives such a rush of memories. Even though my Grandma passed in '98 it still bears witness to her as well. I know my grandpa may not live till Christmas, but he will always live in my memories when I look at the painting. It is called "The Last Stop" by Alfred Owles. jonny