“Ivan’s really slowing down,” Emily murmured to her husband, Peter, as she mixed the last of the potato salad.
“What makes you say that?” Peter frowned, glancing up from his newspaper.
“He couldn’t even lift little Charlotte to put the star on the tree. And before, he—” Emily sighed, trailing off.
“Dad’s still full of life, love. Maybe he was just tired,” Peter countered, though doubt flickered in his voice.
“No, Peter, age catches up with everyone. You’ll take groceries over to them once a week now—no arguing.” She smoothed her hair and picked up the salad bowl. “Come on, dinner’s ready.”
Ivan had heard everything. Pausing outside the bathroom to flick on the light, he caught his son and daughter-in-law’s conversation.
New Year’s Eve had always been tradition in the Carter household—the whole family gathered at his and Vera’s for the festivities. This year was no different. Peter and his family had arrived first. Emily helped set the table while the grandchildren decorated the tree, their laughter ringing through the lounge.
Ivan turned on the tap and sank onto the edge of the bathtub.
*She’s right. Ever since retirement, that emptiness crept in. Then came the weariness, the boredom—God, it’s suffocating.*
“Everything alright in there, Ivan?” Emily’s gentle voice came through the door.
“Fine, just coming out,” he replied, forcing cheer into his voice.
Outside, little Oliver was hopping from foot to foot.
“Come on, then!” Ivan ushered his grandson in, ruffling his hair.
At the dinner table, Ivan grew quieter. He raised his glass absently during toasts, barely sipping his drink.
“You’re quiet tonight, Dad,” Peter remarked as they prepared to leave. In the hallway, Emily nudged him. “Feeling alright?”
“Perfect, son.” Ivan managed a smile. “Bring the kids round for the holidays, won’t you? No trips planned?”
“We’ve got the extension done, Ivan,” Emily chimed in. “We won’t be traveling. You should rest—we’ll send the kids to my parents’ for a bit.”
Ivan’s smile faltered. “Right. Good they’ll get time with the in-laws, too.”
Emily whispered something to Peter.
“I’ll drop by Sunday with groceries,” Peter said, heading for the door.
Vera blinked in confusion. “What groceries? The shops are just down the road. And the fridge is full!”
“No need to carry heavy bags up five flights, Mum. Peter will handle it,” Emily insisted.
Once they’d gone, Vera huffed. “First the grandkids, now the shopping—does she think we’re helpless?”
“Emily means well, love. She cares,” Ivan said.
“We’re not ninety! But she acts like we’re already past it.”
“They’ll bring the kids another time. You heard—they’re with the in-laws this round.”
Vera fell silent.
*Maybe I’m too hard on her. Emily visits more, always helps, always smiling. The other one just turns up for a meal and leaves with jars of pickles. And as for the son-in-law—best not even go there.*
“You’ve been quiet, Ivan,” Vera murmured, turning to him.
“Just tired,” he muttered.
“Right. I’ll put the telly on for you.”
Vera headed to the kitchen to finish stacking the dishes Emily had washed.
Ivan lay on the sofa, thoughts churning.
*Couldn’t even lift Charlotte to the tree. What happens when summer comes? Won’t be able to reach the apples for her. She’s so small. Where’d my strength go?*
So Ivan decided—by summer, he’d get himself back in shape. Not like he was twenty, but strong enough to lift his granddaughter without effort.
He started slow—long walks every day, no excuses. Found dusty old dumbbells under the bed, and lifting them sparked something in him. Soon, he was at the park, pulling himself up on the bars alongside teenagers.
Bit by bit, the strength returned. By summer, he’d cleared the shed of junk and built a play area for the grandkids—slides, swings, everything.
When August rolled around, Peter brought Charlotte and Oliver to the cottage. Charlotte squealed at the little playground. Even Oliver grinned. Ivan spent the whole day with them—gardening, swimming in the brook, building sandcastles.
The next morning, Oliver tugged his sleeve.
“Grandad, can you get me that plum up there?”
Ivan grinned. “How about you get it yourself?” In one swift motion, he hoisted the boy high.
Oliver’s small fingers plucked three plums easily.
“Me next, Grandad!” Charlotte clapped.
Laughing, Ivan set Oliver down and scooped her up. “Still got it, haven’t I?”
Never lose heart. Never give up while there’s still a chance. Cherish each day—life’s given to us just once.
