“John’s slowing down these days,” Emily said to her husband while mixing the potato salad.
“What makes you say that?” Peter raised an eyebrow.
“He couldn’t lift little Mary to put the star on the tree earlier. And before, he’d have done it without a second thought,” she sighed.
“Come on, Dad’s still strong as an ox. Maybe he was just tired,” Peter insisted.
“No, love, age catches up with all of us. You’ll take the weekly grocery run to your parents now, and don’t argue about it.” Emily tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and picked up the salad bowl. “Let’s eat.”
John had overheard everything. He paused outside the bathroom, flicking the light on, and caught his son and daughter-in-law’s conversation.
The Smith family had a long-standing New Year’s tradition—gathering at the grandparents’ home for a feast. This year was no exception. Peter and his family arrived first, with Emily helping set the table while the grandchildren decorated the Christmas tree in the living room.
John turned the tap on and sat on the edge of the bathtub.
“She’s right, you know,” he thought. “Ever since I retired, I’ve felt useless. Then came the sluggishness, the boredom—it’s enough to make a man weep.”
“John, everything all right?” Emily asked softly from the doorway.
“Fine, just coming,” he replied.
Outside, little Andrew was hopping from foot to foot. “Hurry up, Grandpa!”
John let him in.
At the dinner table, John grew quieter. He barely touched his drink, sipping only when toasts were made.
“Dad, you’re not yourself tonight. It’s a celebration—cheer up. You feeling alright?” Peter asked as they prepared to leave. In the hallway, Emily nudged him.
“I’m fine, son. Bring the kids round in the holidays—not going away, are you?” John forced a smile.
“We’ve got the house refurbished, John. The kids’ll stay with my parents this year,” Emily cut in.
“Oh. Right, of course. Your mum and dad deserve time with them too,” John murmured.
Emily whispered something to Peter.
“I’ll drop by Sunday with the shopping,” Peter said, heading for the door.
His mother, Margaret, blinked in confusion. “What shopping? The shops are just round the corner. And we’ve plenty of veg—your dad can always pop out if we need anything.”
“No need for that, Margaret. Peter will handle it. No point lugging bags up five flights—you should take it easy,” Emily insisted.
Once they’d gone, Margaret huffed. “Honestly, no grandchildren, no errands—what’s she playing at now?”
“Emily’s a good sort, Margaret. Means well,” John said.
“We’re not decrepit, John. Feels like they’ve written us off—and now they won’t even let us see the kids!”
“They’ll bring them round soon enough. You heard—they’re with her parents this time.”
Margaret fell quiet.
“Maybe I’ve been too hard on her,” she thought. “Always helping, always smiling. The other daughter-in-law only shows up for a meal and takes my pickles. And as for our son-in-law—well, best not dwell on that.”
“Why so glum, John?” she asked.
“Just tired,” he shrugged.
“Right. Rest then. I’ll turn the telly on.”
As Margaret tidied the kitchen, John lay on the sofa, lost in thought.
“Couldn’t lift Mary today—what about summer? Won’t manage to reach the apples for her either. And she’s still so small. Where’s my strength gone?”
Determined, John decided to get back in shape—not like his twenties, but enough to lift his granddaughter without strain.
And so he began. Long daily walks. Dusting off the dumbbells under the bed. Then pull-ups at the park, alongside teenagers who smirked at first, then cheered him on.
Slowly, his strength returned. By summer, he’d cleared the clutter from the garden shed and built a play area for the grandkids—swings, a slide, even a little sandpit.
In August, when the plums ripened, Peter brought the children to the cottage. Mary adored the play area, and even Andrew, usually too cool for such things, was won over. John spent the whole day with them—playing in the garden, splashing in the stream, building sandcastles.
The next morning, Andrew pointed at a high branch. “Grandad, get me that plum!”
“Go on, lad—you can reach it yourself,” John grinned, hoisting him up.
Andrew plucked three plums with tiny fingers.
“Me next, Grandad!” Mary clapped.
“Up you go!” John lifted her effortlessly. “Your Grandad’s still got it!”
Never lose heart—life’s too precious to waste on despair. Cherish each day, for it’s given but once.
