Grandson, by T. Thornton Gray

I was there the day my grandson died. He lay in a hospital bed, his breaths coming fast and shallow. The cancer had all but finished its ravaging work. His days on earth all used up. I put my hand on my sons’ shoulder as we watched from beyond the curtain. My father did the same for me. It was good that he was here, that we all were here.

The alarms sounded and a shudder ran through his body and marked an end to his ninety-four years.
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Then our Father stepped forward, parted the curtain and welcomed him home.