Time is a funny thing.

As humans, we always seem to think we have some to generate, some to, and none at all.

It isn't until our lives dwindle down to the last moments

that we realized that time was always there,

moving at the same pace and provided in the same finite amounts it ever was since

birth.

Making time, wasting time, and not having time were never more than a mirage, smoke and mist in a magician's mirror.

Never has that been more apparent to me than today.

It's Father's Day and my Dad and I are spending it with my

grandfather for what may be the last time. Grandfather's health is failing. In

the end, it's been time that we've given him. Time to

relive his life through our memories and time to go over things and reassure

him that he did it all right and time to let him tell us once more

the stories that fascinated us through the years. My grandfather is my hero. More than that, he's my best friend.

We're a military family, and as such we've lived all over the country.

From age five until I graduated, my grandfather would pick me up the day after school

let out and take me on grand adventures all over the world until it was time to

bring me back to start school again in the fall.

Together we've been on safari in Africa.

We've seen temples and ridden elephants and looked at tigers in the wilds of India.

We've gone scuba diving off the Great Barrier Reef and dug in the ruins of Egypt.

Grandfather taught me to hunt and fish and track and trap and climb mountains and drive and even to fly a plane and skydive.

...