“Look around you,” Grandpa whispered as he gently rested his left hand on my right shoulder, and waved out in front of us with his right. “This is what I see every day now.”

I looked out over rolling emerald hills, towering, snow covered mountains in the distance, and glistening, white-capped waves crashing into the sandy coast. I had never seen so much natural beauty in one glimpse. I thought to take a picture, but I didn’t want to move for fear of losing the moment.

A warm breeze blew my hair softly behind me, and the faint sound of chirping was growing closer. I looked up at Grandpa, watching his face as he undoubtedly recalled the exact species of bird we heard calling–one of his favorite pastimes. I briefly remembered the small Birdwatching Book that used to sit on the end table right next to his recliner in Grandma and Grandpa’s living room. On occasion, I was known to flip through the book, looking at all the pictures of the colorful and exotic birds, wondering how Grandpa could remember them all. 

“What kind of bird is it?” I asked quietly, watching as a single bird landed in a tree just a few feet away from us. Its feathers rustled and it let out a few more chirps before sitting still and gazing out upon the landscape.

“A blue dacnis. Isn’t it beautiful?” Grandpa replied, moving his hand from my shoulder and guiding me toward the tree slowly; silently. We stopped just shy of the tree and took in the moment, embracing the nature, the life, the togetherness that it had been so long since we had felt with one another.

I stared up into the tree and noted the beauty of a bird I’d never seen before: striking black and deep blue with feathers that looked as soft as fur. It traveled alone, but seemed at peace in its solitude.

“Where does it come from?” I pressed, thinking how rare a find we must have stumbled upon.

“Lots of places,” Grandpa replied, “Mostly Argentina.”

I noted the curiosity that an Argentinian bird would be here on its own, but then reminded myself of the uncertainty of where “here” really was. I considered asking the question, but was filled with fear of what the answer might be.

I closed my eyes, breathed in, and was overwhelmed by the combination of the fresh air and Grandpa’s cologne–a scent I didn’t realize how much I had missed until this very moment. Time didn’t seem real, and I couldn’t put a finger on just how long it had been since I had last seen him, but I was certain it had been too long.

“So this is where you’ve been,” I stated, reaching out for Grandpa’s hand.

“Yes,” he said simply. “I’ve been getting it ready.”

He said the words as if it should be obvious–obvious that he had been here all this time, obvious that he was preparing, obvious what he was preparing for; but, I still could not understand.

“Ready?”

He smiled and nodded. “Someday, when the time is right, you will join me here. So will Grandma, and your Mom, and your aunt, and your cousins. Someday, we will all be together again, in this place.”

And I suddenly understood. This was our own piece of heaven.

“But I miss you,” I admitted, and for the first time since I’d found myself here, I knew I was frowning. My heart felt as though it was wrenching out of my chest, knowing that someday wouldn’t be soon–that I still had a long life ahead of me without Grandpa. He wouldn’t be at my birthdays, my wedding, wouldn’t get to see me be a mother, and watch my babies grow. I would be missing him. Always.

“I miss you, too,” he stated calmly, “But I’m always with you. Watching. Preparing. Waiting.”

There was a brief moment of silence as I reconciled the truth. What a blessing to see him, hear him, feel his presence; and yet, what a cruelty to know that it was an ethereal experience, and I couldn’t have him back in my life each day. I racked my brain for an answer–for some way to take him home with me, but I knew it was impossible, and that I had no choice but to savor each second I had left with him.

“I’m proud of you,” he beamed, and I knew it was true. He pulled me into his warm embrace and squeezed, “I am so, so proud of you. And one day, we will celebrate your accomplishments and your successes together, here.”

I felt tears welling up in my eyes, knowing this was the start of goodbye.

I squeezed him tightly, and quietly whispered, “I love you, Grandpa.”

“I love you, too, sweetie.”

I found comfort in his words, but the facts remained: I knew that this moment was fleeting–that sooner than later, I would be back on Earth, and he would be here, and there was no way of knowing when I would see him again. The thought made me squeeze him even tighter, as if I could hold him tight enough that the moment would never have to end.

And then it felt as though he disintegrated from the air around me. I was floating downward, through the plains and into the soil, into the clouds, and delicately descended until I felt the softness of my pillow beneath my head.

I hesitated to open my eyes, breathing in and hoping against hope that Grandpa’s cologne would still fill the air. Instead, I smelled bacon cooking a few rooms over, and when I opened my eyes, I could feel the fresh tears on my cheeks.

There are dreams that make you cry because you’re sad, dreams that make you cry because you’re afraid, dreams that make you cry because you’re happy, and dreams that make you cry because you’re loved.

Earth would never be the same without Grandpa, but I was eternally grateful for that brief touch of heaven.