“I think John’s finally showing his age,” Emily said to her husband as she finished mixing the potato salad.
“What makes you say that?” Peter asked, surprised.
“He couldn’t lift little Mary to put the star on the Christmas tree today. Before, he’d have done it without a second thought.” She sighed.
“Come on, Dad’s still fit as a fiddle—maybe just a bit tired,” Peter argued.
“No, love, time catches up with all of us. You’ll need to start doing their weekly shop from now on, and don’t argue.” Emily adjusted her hair and picked up the salad bowl. “Let’s eat.”
John had heard everything. He paused outside the bathroom, flicking on the light, and caught the tail end of their conversation.
The New Year’s Eve tradition in the Thompson household never changed—everyone gathered at the parents’ home for a feast. This year was no exception. Their eldest son and his family arrived first. Emily helped set the table while the grandchildren happily decorated the tree in the living room.
John turned on the tap and sat on the edge of the bathtub.
*She’s right. Ever since I retired, it’s like I’ve just been wasting away. No energy, no purpose—just one long, dull slump.*
“John, love, everything alright?” Emily’s voice came softly through the door.
“Fine, just a minute,” he answered.
Outside, little Andy was hopping impatiently.
“Come on in, then!” His grandfather chuckled, ushering him inside.
At the dinner table, John grew quieter, drifting in and out of the toasts with absent-minded sips.
“Dad, you seem off—something the matter? It’s a celebration,” Peter asked as they prepared to leave. In the hallway, Emily nudged him subtly.
“No, no, I’m fine, son. Bring the kids round for the holidays—you’re not jetting off somewhere, are you?” John forced a smile.
“We’ve got the house renovation, John—no trips planned. The kids will stay with my parents this time,” Emily cut in.
“Fair enough. Good for the grandparents to spoil them a bit,” John murmured.
Emily whispered something to Peter.
“I’ll drop by Sunday with the shopping,” Peter said, heading for the door.
John’s wife, Vera, frowned. “What shopping? The shops are just down the road—I’ve got plenty!”
“No need to carry bags up five flights, Vera. Peter will handle it—just take it easy,” Emily insisted.
Once they were gone, Vera grumbled, “First they take the grandkids away, now they won’t even let us shop—what’s got into her?”
“Emily’s good to us, Vera. Always thoughtful, always helping,” John said.
“We’re not invalids! It’s like they’ve written us off already.”
“They’ll bring the kids round another time. You heard—they’re off to the in-laws’ this visit.”
Vera fell silent.
*Maybe I’ve been too hard on her. She’s the one who visits most, always cheerful, never a complaint. The other daughter-in-law only shows up for a meal and to raid the pantry. As for the son-in-law—best not to even start.*
“Why so glum, John?” Vera finally asked.
“Just tired,” he brushed her off.
“Right, well, I’ll put the telly on for you.”
As Vera bustled off to the kitchen, John lay on the sofa, lost in thought.
*Couldn’t even lift my granddaughter today. If summer comes and she asks to pick an apple, I’ll be useless. Where’s my strength gone?*
And just like that, John made up his mind—he’d get himself in shape by summer. Not like he was twenty, but enough to lift his grandkids without breaking a sweat.
Day by day, it began. Long walks first, then dusting off the old dumbbells under the bed. Before long, he was at the park pull-up bars, surprising the teenagers with his persistence.
Slowly, his strength returned. By summer, he’d cleared out the clutter in the garden and built a play area for the grandkids—somewhere they’d all have fun.
In August, when the plums and apples ripened, Peter brought the children to visit. Mary adored the little playground, and even Andy approved. John spent the whole day with them—gardening, trips to the river, sandcastles by the shore.
The next morning, Andy tugged his sleeve.
“Grandad, can you get that plum for me?”
“Go on, lad—you can reach it.” John beamed, hoisting him up effortlessly.
Andy plucked three plums with his tiny fingers.
“Me next, Grandad!” Mary clapped as she danced nearby.
“Up you go!” He swung her into the air without hesitation. “Still got it, haven’t I?”
Never lose heart—never give up while there’s still a chance. Cherish each day, and make the most of the one life we’re given.
