My brother and I have long been grown-ups, but our father remains the heart of our family.
We’re both adults now, each with our own families, but our 70-year-old father still holds a special place in our hearts. He lives alone in a small cottage on the outskirts of town. Mum is no longer with us, and my brother Edward and I do everything we can to make sure Dad never feels lonely, always surrounded by love and care. My name is James, and my brother’s name is Edward. Despite our busy lives, we both make time to visit him regularly, even though work often leaves us exhausted.
I visit Dad every Sunday. I cook meals for the week—roast dinners, shepherd’s pie, stewed vegetables, and puddings. He always jokes that my cooking is better than a restaurant’s, though I know it’s just his way of making me smile. While everything simmers and bakes, I tidy the house and check that everything’s in order. Dad’s name is William Thompson. He loves reminiscing about his youth, retelling the same stories I’ve heard dozens of times. But I listen anyway—those stories are his life, and I love seeing his eyes light up when he talks about the past.
Edward visits on Wednesdays. He lives a bit farther away but never misses a chance to see Dad. My brother takes care of odd jobs—fixing the leaky tap, mowing the lawn, clearing snow in winter. Dad tries to help, but Edward and I insist he rests. “You two won’t let me get bored,” he laughs. Often, Edward brings his seven-year-old daughter, Emily. She adores her grandad, and the feeling is mutual—he tells her fairy tales, teaches her chess. Those moments are pure joy for him.
Despite his age, Dad is full of energy. He has a small garden where he grows potatoes, carrots, and herbs. He says tending the earth keeps him strong. He loves reading the paper and watching old films. Sometimes we try to convince him to join us for a day out or a family gathering, but he usually declines. “I’m quite happy at home,” he says. Still, we know our visits mean everything to him. He’d never say it outright, but his smile says it all.
Edward and I are very different, but in one way, we’re exactly the same—we treasure our father. To us, he’s more than a parent; he’s an example. I remember how he taught us to work hard, be honest, and respect others. Even now, when we’re fathers ourselves, we still look up to him. After Mum passed, he grew quieter. But we try to fill that silence with our love. Sometimes I wonder how happy she’d be, seeing the way we care for him.
My wife, Claire, adores Dad too. She often sends him homemade scones or jam. He always thanks her with a chuckle, saying we’ve spoiled him rotten. We have two children—twelve-year-old Oliver and nine-year-old Charlotte—and they love visiting their grandad. Oliver helps in the garden, and Charlotte hangs on his every word. Those visits keep our family close.
Sometimes I think about how fast time flies. Dad isn’t as spry as he once was, but his spirit is as strong as ever. Edward and I are determined never to leave him alone. If needed, we’ll bring him to live with one of us or hire help. But for now, while he wants his independence, we respect that. The important thing is he knows we’re always here.
Our Sunday and Wednesday visits have become tradition. It’s not just about meals or chores—it’s our way of showing Dad how much he means to us. And when I see him laughing, hugging Emily, or thanking me for supper, I know these moments are priceless. Life has taught me to cherish family, and I’m grateful we still have Dad, bringing us all together.
