Jake always felt it was wonderful how his granny, Margaret, travelled the world. She wasn’t loud or showy. She never wanted to be noticed. 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 what you liked to eat, when to call, and how big everyone’s troubles were without ever letting on how heavy they were.
The family was heartbroken when they found out that Margaret had a terminal illness, but Jake took it the worst. After his parents split up, he lived with her for a while. She had put him to bed, sung him ancient lullabies, and stayed with him while he was going through the hard times of being a boy. Jake promised himself, “I will make these days count,” because her body was getting weaker. I will give back the love Mom gave me, even if it’s only a small bit.
Jake drove up to her small brick house one morning while the sun shone softly through the trees. She still took care of the flowers in pots that were flourishing outside her door. He came out of his car with two things: a bouquet of white daisies that he had just chosen for her and a powder-blue dress that he had carefully stored and wrapped in wrapping paper. The clothing was the identical one she wore in a black-and-white image on her dresser. She was smiling next to Jake’s grandfather, Thomas, in the image, with the ocean behind them.
Margaret slowly opened the door. She was weak, 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 go on one last excursion. “Just you and me.”
She looked at him with eyes that glittered. “One more adventure sounds like the perfect thing.”
Jake helped her get into the car and folded the blanket over her lap. He set the flowers down on the seat next to her and switched on the radio. He hummed along to a nice melody from years ago as they drove away from the house.
The first place they went was an old diner that hadn’t changed at all throughout the years. It had survived the erection of strip malls and fast food restaurants and was still standing tall with its red vinyl seats, neon sign, and checkered floor. But it wasn’t just any diner; it was the bistro where Margaret and Thomas first met when she was 22.
They strolled in, or more accurately, they shuffled and wheeled in, and the attendants gently escorted them to a booth by the window. Margaret whispered, “This is where it all started,” as she traced her fingertips along the table’s edge.
Jake had two strawberry milkshakes, just like he used to when he was a youngster. While they waited, Margaret began to talk. Not only did she talk about Thomas, but also about things Jake had never heard before, like the first time Thomas made her laugh so hard she cried, the way 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 eyes shone as she spoke, and her voice found a rhythm that disease had tried to take away. Jake listened, as if he were trying to capture time itself with every word.
They went to a park down the street after lunch. Over the years, the park has altered. The trees were bigger and the benches were older, but it was still the same area where Margaret had taken 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 a peculiar quiet between them. The silence wasn’t awkward; it was respectful, like the air was holding its breath for something amazing.
When they got close to the gazebo in the middle of the park, Margaret suddenly stopped.
At that point, she noticed it.
Under beautiful strings of fairy lights that sparkled softly in the fading afternoon sun, there were many people I knew. Her child. Her grandchildren. Her nieces and nephews live with her. People who go to church. Old neighbours. There were people she hadn’t seen in years standing silently with candles, waiting for her.
Margaret blinked in surprise. “What is this?” she asked in a low voice.
Jake grinned at her and glanced at her. He said, “A party.” “Of you.” Of everything that you are. Of the life you gave us.
Then, from someplace in the gazebo’s rafters, a soft, flowing music began to play.
It was the song.
Their song.
The one she and Thomas chose for their wedding but never got to dance to. There was no music or reception during their courthouse wedding. All it took was a signature on a piece of paper and a common goal of living together.
Jake stepped forward and offered his hand. He said, “Tonight is your first dance.”
She cried and tears streamed down her face. “Jake… I can’t…” I haven’t danced in years.
He bent down and took her hands in his. “You don’t have to,” he remarked in a quiet voice. “Just hold on to me.”
He cautiously took her out onto the open floor, where the lights were. She leaned towards him, taking little, uncertain steps. But as the music played and the people she loved were there, everything changed.
For a little while, she wasn’t sick anymore. The weight was no longer there. Her body remembered, even though her bones didn’t.
A grandmother and her grandchild danced softly and gracefully, swinging in the sky and surrounded by love.
Then other folks joined in.
Parents and kids danced together. The hands of old couples came together again. There were tears and laughter at the same time. The park was full of music, joy, and the bittersweet agony of saying goodbye. It wasn’t a wake. It wasn’t a farewell. The party was for a woman who had loved deeply and been loved back just as deeply.
Margaret put her head on Jake’s shoulder and looked up at the stars as the night drew to an end. 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 hurt.”
Jake closed his eyes. The sound of laughter in the distance, the smell of daisies still in the air, and the warmth of her words all made time seem to stop. He learnt something that will stay with him forever:
Sometimes the greatest way to say goodbye is to not say anything at all. You might feel them in a dance, a song, a shared milkshake, or a soft hand held in the dark. You can give someone not only consolation, but also a moment they’ve always wanted.
A chance to be seen. Loved. Grateful.
And at that point, Jake knew he had done that for her.
That was all they needed.
