Jake always believed that the way his grandma, Margaret, travelled throughout the world was special. She wasn’t loud or showy. She never wanted anyone to notice her. But everything she did, from folding laundry to calming a crying kid, displayed a quiet strength that stayed with you. For decades, she has been the family’s rock. She was the kind of person who remembered your favourite food, knew when to call, and never let on how serious everyone else’s troubles were.
The family was heartbroken when they learnt that Margaret had a terminal illness, but Jake was the most upset. After his parents split up, he lived with her for a while. She had put him to bed, sung him old lullabies, and stayed with him while he was in pain as a youngster. Jake promised himself, “I will make these days count,” now that her body was getting weaker. Even if I can only give back a little, I will give Mom the love she gave me.
One morning, the sun shined softly through the trees as Jake pulled up to her small brick house. She still took care of the flowers in pots that were flowering there from her wheelchair. He got out of his car with two things: a bouquet of white daisies that he had just selected for her and a powder-blue dress that he had carefully wrapped in wrapping paper. It was the identical garment that was on her bedroom dresser in a black-and-white picture. In the picture, she was smiling next to Jake’s grandfather, Thomas, with the ocean behind them.
Margaret opened the door slowly. Her body was frail, but her eyes were still full of life. She put her hand over her mouth as she saw what he had.
“The blue one,” she said, her voice cracking. “I haven’t seen that dress in 40 years.”
Jake smiled. “It still looks the same as it did in the photo.” I thought we could take one last vacation. “Only you and me.”
She looked at him with sparkling eyes. “One more adventure sounds perfect.”
Jake carefully helped her get into the car and then folded the blanket over her lap. He turned on the radio and put the flowers in the seat next to her. He hummed along to a nice melody from a long time ago as they drove away from the house.
They headed to an old cafe that had somehow stayed the same over the years. It had survived the erection of strip malls and fast food restaurants and was still standing tall with its red vinyl booths, chequerboard floor, and neon sign. But it wasn’t just any diner; it was the bistro where Margaret met Thomas when she was 22.
They strolled in, or more like shuffled and wheeled in, and the attendants graciously took them to a booth by the window. Margaret whispered, “This is where it all began,” as she traced her fingertips along the edge of the table.
Jake requested two strawberry milkshakes, just like he used to when he was a kid. While they waited, Margaret began to speak. Not only did she talk about Thomas, but she also told Jake things he had never heard before, including the first time Thomas made her laugh so hard she cried, how he used to dance with her in the living room in his socks, and the music that played on the jukebox when he asked her to marry him.
Her voice found a rhythm that disease had attempted to take away, and her eyes sparkled as she spoke. Jake listened, as if he were trying to capture every word in a bottle.
After lunch, they went to a park down the street. The park had evolved over time. The trees were bigger and the benches were older, but it was still the same area where Margaret took Jake to feed ducks and chase fireflies in the summer. As they strolled up the winding path, the air was thick with the smell of pine and flowers that were just starting to bloom. There was an odd quiet between them. There was no unpleasant stillness; it was a reverent one, as if the air was holding its breath for something great.
When they got close to the gazebo in the middle of the park, Margaret suddenly stopped.
She saw it then.
There were a lot of people I knew under beautiful garlands of fairy lights that sparkled softly in the fading afternoon sun. Her kid. Her grandchildren. She lives with her nieces and nephews. People from church. People who used to live next door. People she hadn’t seen in years were standing quietly with candles, waiting for her.
Margaret blinked, astonished. “What is this?” she said in a soft voice.
Jake smiled tenderly at her. He said, “A party.” “Of you. Of everything you are. Of the life you gave us.
Then, from someplace in the gazebo’s rafters, a calm, sweet music began to play.
The music was it.
Their song.
The one Thomas and she chose for their wedding but never got to dance to. They got married at the courthouse, but there was no music or reception. It only took signing a piece of paper and wanting to build a life together.
Jake walked up and offered his hand. He said, “This is your first dance tonight.”
She cried and tears ran down her face. “Jake, I can’t… I haven’t danced in a long time.
He bent down and took her hands in his. He whispered softly, “You don’t have to.” “Just hold on to me.”
He cautiously guided her out into the broad space under the lights. She leaned towards him, her steps small and uncertain. But as the music started and the people she cared about were there, everything changed.
Her disease went vanished for a short time. The weight was gone. Her body remembered, even though her bones didn’t.
A grandmother and her grandchild danced softly and gracefully, swaying under the sky and in a loving atmosphere.
And then other folks got involved.
Parents and kids danced together. The hands of ageing couples touched each other again. There were both tears and laughs. The park was full of music, enjoyment, and the bittersweet agony of parting goodbye. It wasn’t a burial. It wasn’t the end. It was a party for a woman who had loved deeply and been loved back just as fiercely.
At the end of the night, Margaret put her head on Jake’s shoulder and looked up at the stars. She talked gently but plainly.
“This is more than I ever hoped for,” she remarked. “You gave me something that will last longer than the pain.”
Jake closed his eyes. The sound of laughter far away, the smell of daisies still in the air, and the warmth of her words all made time seem to stop. He learnt something that he will never forget:
Sometimes, the best way to say goodbye is with no words. You might feel them in a dance, a song, a milkshake you both enjoy, or a soft hand held in the dark. You can give someone not only comfort, but also the moment they’ve always wanted.
A chance to be noticed. Loved. Honoured.
Jake knew he had given her that at that moment.
That was all they needed.