A small voice.
A familiar voice.
“Grandpaaaa!”
I slowly turned around.
Emma was running toward me from between the trees.
Behind her came my other grandchildren.
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Then my nephew.
Then two old neighbors I had not seen in years.
Then three of my oldest friends.
I just stood there.
Confused.
Unable to move.
And then I saw the house.
A small wooden cabin stood farther down the path.
My knees almost gave way.
I knew that cabin.
Or at least, I knew what it used to be.
Nearly fifty years earlier, Martha and I had spent the first summer of our marriage there.
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We were young.
We had almost no money.
The roof leaked when it rained.
The old stove barely worked.
But we had been happy there.
Years later, the cabin had been abandoned.
I thought it was gone forever.
But now it stood in front of me again.
Restored.
New windows.
A rebuilt porch.
Flowers near the entrance.
A safe ramp leading to the front door.
Metal handrails had been installed along the steps and hallway.
I looked at Daniel.
“What… is this?”
He smiled.
“We didn’t bring you here to leave you.”
