last time i saw him

The last time I saw my Grandfather he was walking along the beach with his metal detector. Actually it was not the last time I physically saw him, but it was the last time that I would see him and be able to talk to him person to person, eye to eye.
I remember my surprise as I stood at the rail on the boardwalk looking down upon the steaming sand, noting nothing remarkable until, from the corner of my eye, I spied his figure. He had a figure that I had grown up knowing in silhouette distinct in my mind - but not as his. It was the familiar figure of Alfred Hitchcock. Whenever I looked at Grandpa I saw that shadowy teller of tales from days gone by. But, as I knew that I was not seeing the grand master of mystery himself, I knew it could be, couldn't it, why yes . . . it was, Grandpa.
He was slowly searching the sand for buried treasure with his prized metal detector. A hobby that he had adopted after retiring from the workaday world. Although I knew he lived somewhat close to Seaside, that was the first time that it occurred to me that I might actually run into him. I suppose one never expects to run into their grandparents at the beach. I smiled silently for a moment as I watched that adorable man, donned in shorts, t-shirt. baseball cap and earphones studiously monitoring his valuable machine for blips or beeps. But that moment passed quickly as I called out to him, "Grandpa, Grandpa" waving my hand furiously to draw his attention. He spied me yet seemed puzzled as to who I could possibly be. I was, after all, the only black haired granddaughter that he had. After a moment or two of contemplation I watched as he seemed to awaken. As he waved back I began to walk toward a place where hellos could become hugs.
I brought him to the pizzeria where Kenny, my husband, worked and we fed and watered the old dear. We sat talking at a table for moments too swift, not knowing then that this would be the last time we would really have the chance. We