He often said he’d rather not see a huge farewell.
“It’s just a sandwich, a folding chair and a quiet lake for us,” Grandpa said. I’m fine with things being quieter this time.
But we could tell. We could tell that this outing was planned for something serious. Surgery had been planned for first thing on Monday. They said it happened all the time, but when a man that age talks about “what if it doesn’t work,” it sounds different.
I put snacks, lawn chairs and two containers of greasy diner food into the car. There was an extra layer of blankets at my cousin’s, in case the wind strengthened as we went.
That’s when we found ourselves there: three generations of our family by a peaceful lake, feeling the splash of the water and smelling fresh-cut grass. This was Grandpa’s home away from home, started long before I ever existed and it was special to him. Something I didn’t see as important until I experienced it that day.
After settling in his chair, he looked at the water with his fishing pole across his legs. There was something peaceful about him, making all else stop for a short while. He didn’t seem like he was sick. He didn’t appear weak. He looked the same as Grandpa. The person who showed me how to fish, tie my shoe and sneak a cookie when I thought Grandma wasn’t looking.
It took us a little while before we really started talking much. Often, sitting peacefully was better than talking with Grandpa. Later, he interrupted the calm with one of his usual lines.
Back then when I was your age, I never believed I’d grow old. I always assumed I’d stay out fishing and feeling this way. Yet time doesn’t care that I’m not ready, it just passes each day.
I just nodded, unable to think of anything to answer. “Not at all, it doesn’t.”
Grandpa quietly laughed. It’s true that moments like these make you appreciate things more. You just need the basics, after all?
Suddenly, sitting beside the lake, I realized how important this was to him. He wasn’t there to catch anything or make this the end; he only wanted to spend time with his loved ones in a place that always filled him with calm. He wasn’t really demanding a large farewell either. He wanted it to be peaceful.
The day moved along slowly. We enjoyed fishing, exchanged stories, overate on the greasy food there and found plenty to laugh about with the fish we never caught. Everything slowed down, but I kept being reminded through various things that reality hadn’t stopped. There was a surgery planned and he wasn’t getting any younger, so nothing was sure. Still, he made me smile and joke all afternoon, but his eyes seemed sad to me. He hid his sadness from others but couldn’t really shake it.
This happened in the late afternoon, after the sun had sunk below the horizon and Grandpa turned to me. His eyes were starting to close and the voice had softened.
And, I don’t expect you to always be here with sandwiches every year. I just want you to recall this time. This is the important thing, kid. Some of the things we feel we should pursue aren’t really necessary.
“Yes, Grandpa,” I said, working past the lump that had formed in my throat. “I’ll remember.”
The truth was, remembering wasn’t all I wanted to do. I didn’t want to let you go. I couldn’t stand the thought of him not being in our lives. He wasn’t just someone I relied on; he always supported me and I knew I could trust him. To lose that part of myself was almost as painful as losing myself.
We only left after it grew dark and the sky had a stir of stars. Since I had finished, Grandpa looked up at the sky and you could see a peaceful, slow smile on his lips.
He said, “I’m ready to go home now.”
After gathering our things, we got in the car and drove home, with just the engine and the occasional wind in the trees for noise. Grandpa’s lids slowly sank together as our car moved along, causing me to feel a painful sense of what I would find once we got home. The hospital. The surgery. The uncertainty.
As I tucked Grandpa in that night, he looked at me and we glanced at each other with his tired eyes.
He whispered to her, “Promise you’ll be alright.”
I assured him my reply was, “Of course, Grandpa,” even as my heart beat fast. You don’t have to worry, you’ll be fine.
He smiled a little and then whispered softly, “I sure hope so.”
I didn’t get much sleep that night. I kept going over what he’d said and what he’d mention on the trip. No matter how hard I tried to deny it, I felt we were all hoping that Monday would come as fast as possible.
That morning, the hospital called to tell me how it went.
The nurse addressed me, “Are you Michael, grandson of Mr. Thompson?”
“Yes”, I answered as my voice sounded tight.
Unfortunately, there’s an issue that has come up. We want you to come in as soon as possible.
I felt myself get nervous. I went straight to the hospital, desperate that things would not be as they appeared. When I got into the hospital, a doctor looked at me with understanding. I could already predict his words.
“Unfortunately, things didn’t work out the way we had hoped for your grandfather’s surgery,” the doctor added kindly. He’s holding steady for the moment, but things could still change. We’re making every effort possible.
I felt my chest tighten and the world spin a little. Still, the doctor then had some words I wasn’t expecting.
“He wants to be able to see you,” the doctor went on. It’s a specific message for you from him.
My thoughts and heart beating fast, I quickly made my way to his room. My grandfather was sitting up in his bed, with a faint and settled smile on his face.
“You managed to bring it across,” he mumbled.
I said to him, “I’m right here, Grandpa, taking hold of your hand.” “How are you feeling these days?”
He shrug, but I saw the usual sparkle in his eyes. “Tired. And I’m okay. I feel like I’ll be here for a little while longer.
I started laughing weakly. You keep doing these kinds of things to us, don’t you? Act like you’re not around and then you burst back to life once more.
He smiled in a weak way. Apparently, I’m not done yet. But I’m saying this to you, kid. I lead a life that has lasted many years and I’ve enjoyed each one. Please don’t worry about me. Ensure you go on living your own life.
My eyes started to moisten, but I kept them dry. No doubt, Grandpa, I’ll follow through. I promise.”
It was instantly clear to me what he had meant so many years before. I was not trying to stay in the past. It focused on making the most of our time and realizing what really mattered was our lifestyle, more than our years.
Grandpa was able to get through the surgery, taking his time to recover but, as ever, he was strong and pulled through. He was most transformed not through his healing, but through the attitude he began to have. He was more aware of everything now and I was too.
I often remembered what Grandpa said about life in the years to come. I enjoyed the everyday times that didn’t feel significant then, but somehow became important as I reflected on the experience. I spent time fishing with my kids, talked with them and took moments of peace by the water.
The twist? Grandpa wasn’t the only one who found the topic useful. I did it too. So every time we go to the lake, my kids go with me—because the best gift we can offer them is spending time together. Remembering the moments we experience together.
Hence, if you’ve got some free time, make the most of it. Don’t wait around for the perfect time—take action yourself. Let everyone around you know that you care and appreciate them.
If you’ve gone through something similar, tell us about it. You always have to ask: Who needs to hear that life’s greatest memories are often the still ones?