The Bench--A Tale of a Grandfather

I sat idly on the bench my grandfather and I would visit on our long walks through his once bustling neighborhood. It is on this bench that he would tell me stories, of his life, as well as others he met along the way. Of good times and bad and of loss and happiness.

This neighborhood has moved on to a different place, just as he, it seems. Although, I am sure their destinations are miles, if not worlds apart. I sit here gazing from left to right, with few sights to attract or avert my eyes. The neighborhood is littered with vacant lots, echoing the void at the end of the bench. This place is sad now, but reminds me of a better time. A time that seems within my grasp, but gently abates with each longing reach.

My grandfather worked hard for many years and traveled to many destinations, but none, I'm sure, similar to the one he has most recently visited. I imagine it to be a place of content for him, a place to relive old memories and remember old faces. I am sure that he is also comforted by the fact that he must no longer suffer as he did before he moved on.

He, my grandfather, was a master at his craft, which I believe was conjuring up the best in those he met along his journey. I believe this to be true, especially in me, his only grandchild. He believed in me, as if there was no one else to stand behind.

I miss my grandfather, but know he is sitting on a similar bench, in a different place, but at the same time.