“I think John’s really starting to show his age,” said Emily to her husband as she prepared the potato salad.
“What makes you say that?” Peter frowned.
“He couldn’t lift little Mary to put the star on the Christmas tree. And back in the day…” She sighed.
“Come off it, Dad’s still got plenty of life in him—maybe he’s just a bit tired,” Peter argued.
“No, love, time catches up with everyone. You’ll take the weekly shopping round to yours from now on, no arguments,” Emily said, smoothing her hair before picking up the bowl. “Dinner’s ready.”
John had heard every word. He’d paused to switch on the bathroom light and caught the conversation between his son and daughter-in-law.
It was New Year’s Eve, and the Wilsons always gathered at the family home for a festive feast. This year was no different. Peter and his wife had arrived first. Emily helped set the table while the grandchildren decorated the tree in the lounge.
John turned on the tap and sat on the edge of the tub.
“She’s right, though, isn’t she? Since I retired, it’s like I’ve lost all purpose. And now—everything feels like such a slog. Like I’m just going through the motions.”
“John, everything all right?” Emily asked softly, standing by the door.
“Ah, just fine—be right out,” he replied.
Little Andy was waiting outside, shuffling his feet impatiently.
“Go on then, quick!” John ushered his grandson in.
At the dinner table, John grew quieter, raising his glass but barely sipping his drink.
“Dad, you seem off—everything all right? It’s Christmas, you should be merry,” Peter said as they prepared to leave. Standing in the hallway, Emily nudged him to say more.
“I’m grand, son. Bring the kids round during the holidays—you’re not going anywhere, are you?” John managed a smile.
“We’ve got the house renovations, John—won’t be going away. You need a rest too. We’ve arranged to send the little ones to my parents’ for a bit,” Emily chimed in.
“Right, well, if you’ve made plans—good for the grandparents to have their time,” John said, a touch sadly.
Emily whispered something to Peter.
“I’ll stop by Sunday, drop off some groceries,” Peter said, heading for the door.
His mother, Margaret, looked puzzled.
“What groceries? The shops are just down the road. And we’ve plenty of veg—if we need anything, your dad can pop out.”
“No need for that, Margaret. Peter will bring everything. No point lugging it up five flights when he can drive it over,” Emily insisted.
Once they’d gone, Margaret muttered,
“Honestly—first they take the grandkids away, now they won’t even let us go shopping. What’s got into her?”
“Emily’s good to us, love. Looks after us—don’t read too much into it,” John said.
“We’re not decrepit yet! It’s like they’ve written us off, and now they won’t even let us see the children.”
“They’ll bring them round. You heard—this time it’s her parents’ turn.”
Margaret fell quiet.
Maybe she’s being unfair. Emily’s always helpful, always visiting with a smile. The other daughter-in-law just comes for meals and takes jars of pickles. As for the son-in-law—best not to even start.
“What’s with the long face, John?” Margaret asked, turning back to him.
“Just tired,” he mumbled.
“Right, well—put your feet up. I’ll switch the telly on for you.”
Margaret went to the kitchen to put away the dishes Emily had washed.
John lay on the sofa, thinking.
Couldn’t lift Mary to put the star up today. If she visits in summer, will I even be able to pick an apple for her? And she’s still so small. Where’s all my strength gone?
So John made a decision—by summer, he’d get himself into shape. Maybe not like he was at twenty, but enough to lift his granddaughter without a struggle.
And off he went. Daily walks to start—no excuses. Found an old pair of dumbbells under the bed, covered in dust. Lifting them felt good. Soon, he was at the park pull-up bars, working out alongside teenagers.
Slowly, the strength returned. By the time summer came, he felt like a new man—cleared out the clutter in the garden and built a little play area for the grandkids.
In August, when the plums ripened, Peter brought the children over. Mary adored the play area, and even Andy approved. John spent the whole day with them—playing in the garden, taking them to the river, building sandcastles.
The next morning, Andy tugged at his sleeve.
“Grandad, can you get me that plum up there?”
“Come on, lad—you can reach it yourself!” John grinned, lifting him high.
Andy grabbed three plums with his tiny fingers.
“Me too, Grandad, me too!” Mary clapped excitedly.
“Up you go!” John laughed, setting Andy down and scooping her up effortlessly. “Your grandad’s still got it!”
Never lose heart—never give up if there’s a chance. Cherish every day, for life is given just once.
