My grandparents on my father's side live in Attleboro, Massachusets.  My grandfather Conrad is 90; my grandmother Dorothy is 91.  They have lived in Attleboro almost their entire lives.  He is a veteran of WWII and Korea.  She is wise, loving, dutiful and has the patience and serenity of a saint.  They are thrifty, modest, devout and loving.  We have a very small family.  My father is an only child.  My two brothers and I are their only grandchildren, I being the oldest.  My grandfather and I have exchanged letters, cards and pictures over the course of my whole life.  He has been singing Yankee Doodle Dandy to me since I was old enough to smile.

I have been thinking about them both a lot lately, knowing for a couple of years that I needed to find the time to go visit them; while they still live alone, they no longer travel and it has been several years since we last were together.  This past Sunday, the persistent thought grew so strong I felt compelled to make plans and get up there to them, while I still could.  In my mind, I wondered if I could somehow talk my grandfather into letting me take him to a Sox game.  I've dreamt of this lately.

I finally sent an email Tuesday asking if they would like some company for a few days.  My grandfather, hard of hearing as he is, still spends a little time at his computer most mornings, reading and writing the odd letter to the editor of his hometown paper, when he is not carving a wooden bird or contributing time to their church.  When he didn't respond right away, I just figured he was busy or tired or simply had not logged on yet this week.

This morning my father called me while I was in the middle of a mediation.  My grandparent's neighbor called today and told him both of them had been in the hospital for over a week and that my grandfather had told them it was time to call my dad.  My grandfather is a good old fashioned New England stoic. His statement spoke volumes.  My heart sank.

I have just now finally been able to make contact with them both.  To my relief, they were both able to speak to me on the phone for a short time and they both sounded pretty good, on the whole.  I learned from the nurses neither will be going home soon but that the situation is, hopefully, not dire.  And yet, the clock ticks louder in the ears of a grandson of grandparents in their nineties.

I feel like I am being given an opportunity to go spend some time with them, rather than sitting here a thousand miles away just thinking and talking about it.  So I am rearranging some things and catching a flight tomorrow.  I will check on their house, do whatever they need me to do, but mostly, I will just go back and forth between the hospital rooms sitting with them, talking with them, soaking them in. 

If it is in God's plan, sometime in the next few weeks, after I have already returned to Alabama, perhaps they will be able to return to the house my grandfather built from a kit so many years ago. They are more likely to see a live-in nurse than Fenway Park in whatever time they are granted, be it weeks, months or years.  But dreams of baseball games easily make way for the peace of a quiet return home, a final whittle or three on a wooden chickadee and a few last letters to the editor.

If you have the chance to go see someone you've been thinking about, I urge you to do it.  I am sitting here feeling very lucky, very led and like I could sprint to the airport.