He constantly asked that I not make a big deal out of saying goodbye.
“Just a sandwich, some folding chairs and a quiet lake will do,” he told me. All that grandness is unnecessary for me.
We could tell. We understood right away that this wasn’t just a normal Saturday picnic. The doctors planned for the surgery to take place first thing on Monday. They insisted it was normal, but when a man our father’s age talks about not bouncing back, it feels special.
I stuffed the car with snacks, lawn chairs and two containers full of the diner food he liked. She joined us outside and brought along more blankets, because we feared the wind might get chilly
The three of us were there—family of different ages, all together on the lakeside, water lapping by our feet and a gentle smell of freshly cut grass filling the air. Even before I appeared on the scene, Grandpa had been coming here for years and the spot became unique to him. Something that I only understood truly valued after that moment.
He leaned back in his folding chair, watching the water and his fishing pole was comfortably in his hands. For just a second, his calmness made everything around him easy and peaceful. He did not seem sick. He seemed to be physically strong. He appeared to look like my grandpa did. The man who showed me how to fish, tie a knot, sneak a cookie when I was hungry and Grandma wasn’t paying attention.
To begin with, we didn’t have many conversations. At times, staying quiet worked best when talking with Grandpa. Soon, he interrupted the silence with one of his famous lines.
“When I was your age, I promised myself I wouldn’t feel old.” Before, I was certain I’d always keep fishing and feel this way. After all, time doesn’t give anyone a break, does it?
I looked at her, searching for the right thing to say. “It does not.”
The old man laughed quietly. “But, it makes you realize why these special times are important. Just plain and simple ones are good enough for me.”
It became clear to me in the stillness of that lake, how meaningful this was for him. It wasn’t much about boats or sport; it was all about being with his loved ones at his favorite peaceful place. Actually, what he needed wasn’t much of a goodbye. He wanted the end to come with peace.
Time went by slowly that day. We spent time fishing, chatting, ate way too much unhealthy food and cracked jokes about the fish that kept tricking us. Moments kept getting stronger for me, yet the reminder of reality told me time would not stop. The time for his surgery was approaching and he wasn’t getting any younger—nothing was certain. Even as he joked and smiled throughout, I saw how sad he felt inside. He managed to hide how he felt, but it always found a way to wear him down.
Once the sun started to set during the afternoon, Grandpa turned and spoke to me. Fourth, his eyes were tired and his voice was more gentle.
I don’t want you to feel like you have to come here yearly, pack sandwiches and sit by the lake, he explained. I hope you’ll never forget how you’re feeling right now. This is the important thing, kid. They tell us that the things we think we need may not be everything we really need.
“Yes, Grandpa,” I tried to answer, but I couldn’t even say the words. “I’ll remember.”
Yet, I wasn’t simply trying to remember. I held on for as long as I could. I could not think about the possibility of him being gone. He had always been there for me, always there to support and comfort me. Letting go of that felt like no longer having a part of myself.
The night grew chilly and the stars arrived as we decided to stay together for some time. To finish, Grandpa looked at the sky and softly smiled.
He said, “I feel like I should head home now.”
Picking up everything from the forest, we left for home quietly and only the sound of the engine and the trees in the wind could be heard. Grandpa closed his eyes in the backseat and I couldn’t help feeling sad about what would happen once we got home. The hospital. The surgery. The uncertainty.
As I tucked Grandpa in that night, we looked at each other and I saw how tired he was.
“Promise me you’ll do okay, son,” he whispered.
Of course, that’s what matters, I told him, even though I was feeling nervous and my heart was racing. You don’t have to worry.
Smiling slightly, he said just before sleeping, “I hope you do.”
I couldn’t sleep very well after all that happened. I kept going over his comments, the fishing experience and everything else he said in my mind. Only I had to admit to myself—we were all hoping that Monday would come soon.
I woke up the next day to a call from the hospital.
“Are you Michael, grandson of Mr. Thompson?” the nurse said.
I replied, my voice feeling restricted, “Yes.”
I’m sorry, there’s a problem at this time. Please come to the office right now.
My heart fell into my stomach. I hurried to the hospital, hoping everything would turn out okay. I was greeted by a doctor who gave me a kind and understanding look. I was expecting his response even before he said it.
The doctor shared with me quietly that the surgical procedure on your grandfather wasn’t successful. At the moment, he is alright, but we don’t know how things will go from now on. We are doing everything in our power to help.
My chest became tight and everything around me felt like it was tilting. Yet when the doctor spoke again, it froze me in my place.
The doctor went on to say, “He would like to meet with you.” The person wants to see you personally.
My mind thundered and my heart pounded as I hurried to his room. There, sitting in bed, I saw Grandpa, giving me a gentle, tired smile.
“Great job,” he said quietly.
I held my grandpa’s hand and said, “I’m here for you.” “How is your mood today?”
He shrugged, although there was still that sparkle shining in his eyes. “Tired. But I’m doing fine. It sounds like I’ll be in town for a bit.
I gave a laugh that was trembling a little. Isn’t that what you always do? Make us think you’re no longer a part of our lives and then somehow you manage to pull through.
He let out a weak chuckle. I can tell I’m still not finished. However, kid, I need to tell you something. I have spent my life in happiness and I’m grateful for that. Please don’t worry about me. Just remember to live your life, whatever that may bring.
Though my eyes filled with tears, I didn’t allow them to fall. Yes, Grandpa, I will. I promise.”
Everything he said years ago finally made sense to me. It wasn’t focused on keeping old memories alive. It meant focusing on enjoying our lives and being certain that, in the end, the important thing was following what really mattered, rather than simply living for years.
Thankfully, Grandpa went through his surgery and, even though he needed some time to heal, he recovered just as he had in the past. However, the biggest difference was not the recovery itself, but how he started to think about things. I was sure to not take things for granted just as I could see how my father wasn’t either.
I held Grandpa’s words near to me as the years went on. I tried to find happiness in those little moments, since I knew they would become important to me later. I took opportunities to fish, spend time with my kids and enjoy the silence near the lake.
The twist? Grandpa wasn’t the only one who could remember those stories more clearly. So did I. Whenever we visit the lake now, my kids join me—because all they really need from us is our time together. Enjoying each other’s company and collecting wonderful memories.
If you have some time, use it well. Don’t put off making your decision—take action now. Value and cherish the people you love the most.
Should you have ever had an experience similar to this, tell others about it. There’s no guarantee someone won’t appreciate a reminder that life’s key moments come when things are calmer.
