Wyatt quit college to care for his ailing grandfather, swapping textbooks for long nights and hard decisions. Yet when an unexpected face from his past appeared at the door, his quiet sacrifice took an unforeseen turn.
I stood on the porch, looking at the worn, peeling paint along the railing—a repair Grandpa had mentioned countless times, and one I’d always promised to help with when time allowed. But time was something neither of us had anymore.
I opened the door, bracing myself as the familiar scents of old books, freshly brewed coffee, and that pine-scented cleaner—Grandpa’s nod to Grandma—welcomed me. Some things stayed the same, even when everything else changed.
From his bedroom came a soft, familiar voice:
“Is that you, kiddo?”
“Yes, Grandpa, it’s me,” I replied, my duffel bag heavy on my shoulder. I found him sitting on his bed, noticeably thinner than during our last video call, despite the hospice nurse’s warnings. His cheeks were more hollow, and his clothes hung loosely, yet his eyes still shone brightly.
“Don’t just stand there gawking—come, give your old man a hug,” he said. I carefully crossed the room and wrapped my arms around him, feeling his fragility like delicate bird bones.
“You don’t have to treat me like I’m on my last legs, Wyatt,” he joked, patting my back. “I’m not dead yet.”
“Grandpa,” I chided gently as I pulled back, “please.”
“Lighten up,” he waved off my concern. “If I can’t laugh about it, what’s the point?”
I busied myself straightening his pillows and checking his medications, though my heart ached knowing how much he meant to me ever since my parents died when I was ten. When the hospice nurse called to say his health was declining rapidly, I rushed home without a second thought.
“So, from community college dropout to full-time caregiver—quite the career pivot,” Grandpa remarked with a teasing tone. “I told you to stay in school, Wyatt…”
I winced and corrected him, “I’m not a dropout—I’m just on a leave of absence. I’ll be back as soon as you’re better—”
Before I could finish, the doorbell rang, interrupting our reunion.
Glancing at Grandpa, who looked as puzzled as I felt, he mused, “Maybe it’s those religious folks again. Tell them I’ve found salvation in whiskey and westerns.” I rolled my eyes and walked to the door.
When I opened it, my heart nearly stopped.
“Jade? What are you doing here?” I asked, stunned.
There she was on the porch, holding a foil-wrapped dish and smiling hesitantly. “Mom saw you arrive,” she explained, lifting the casserole slightly. “We thought you both might use something to eat.”
Before I could stop myself, I joked, “So not your cooking, then?”—a reflex born from years of familiar banter.
Her eyebrows shot up. “Bold of you, especially after being away for four years.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled, heat rising in my cheeks. “Last I heard, you were married—in San Francisco.”
“I was…” she began, glancing over her shoulder. “But now isn’t the time for that, Wyatt.”
Just then, a small figure peeked from behind her—a little girl, maybe six, with eyes like Jade’s. Clutching a worn stuffed bunny, she looked at me with a child’s cautious scrutiny.
“Lila, say hello to Wyatt. He’s Grandpa Joe’s grandson,” Jade said.
I knelt down and smiled at her. “Nice to meet you, Lila. Does your bunny have a name?”
After a thoughtful pause, she whispered, “Muffin.”
“Can we come in?” Jade asked, tilting her head.
“Of course,” I replied, stepping aside to let them in.
From his bedroom, Grandpa called out, “Is that Jade I hear?”
“The one and only!” she chirped back, ushering Lila inside.
I stood frozen in the hallway, processing that Jade had returned—and now with a daughter. What else had I missed while I was away?
A week into my new routine as caregiver, Grandpa and I sat together in the living room. He’d watched me all morning with a mix of concern and frustration.
“You can’t put your life on hold for me,” he finally said. “What about your degree? You were so close to finishing.”
I shrugged lightly, “It’s just a leave of absence; the school understands.”
“And then what?” he pressed, fixing me with a serious look. “How will you pay for the rest of your studies once I’m gone? We’ve managed to keep your loans low by sharing costs, but now…”
“I’m applying for jobs,” I offered, even though it was only partly true. “I’ll figure it out, Grandpa, I promise.”
“I’m afraid it won’t be that simple,” he said.
“I’m leaving you the house and my savings, but they won’t last—you’ll have property taxes to pay,” he continued before breaking into a fit of coughing. I moved closer, waited until he calmed, then offered him some water.
“Don’t worry about me, Grandpa. I’m figuring things out,” I whispered.
I had sent out countless applications—retail, food service, office work—just to have some income while caring for him, but Grandpa was right; it wouldn’t be enough. I couldn’t afford to worry about work or school while watching him slip away.
The next day, I moved my laptop into his room to search job listings, hoping it would ease his worries to see me busy.
“Any luck?” he asked, watching me scroll.
“A few possibilities,” I replied vaguely.
The concern in his eyes grew, and a few days later, I made a decision that felt both heartbreaking and necessary.
“I got a job,” I announced at breakfast, forcing a note of excitement into my voice. “A part-time receptionist position downtown.”
It was a lie, but the relief on his face made the guilt in my stomach almost bearable.
That evening, Jade brought dinner over. After we ate, we sat on the back porch as Lila chased fireflies, her laughter filling the warm summer air.
“I lied to Grandpa today,” I confessed, staring at my hands. “I told him I got a job, even though I’ve sent out dozens of applications with no results yet. And he won’t stop worrying about me… so I lied.”
Jade said nothing at first, just watching Lila dart across the lawn. Finally, she said, “Lila’s in kindergarten until two, and since I’m not working right now, I can stay with him while you pretend to go to work. He just needs someone there, right?”
I was stunned. “You’d do that?”
“Sure,” she smiled softly. “If it makes your grandpa feel better.”
We fell into a quiet silence, watching the fireflies come and go as dusk deepened.
Then Jade asked, “Do you ever feel like life was meant to be more than this? Like we missed a turn along the way?”
“Yeah,” I murmured, my voice barely audible. “I had this plan: college, a career, maybe a little downtown apartment. Now I’m here with Pops, and nothing turned out the way I imagined.”
“Tell me about it,” she said. “My ex took everything in the divorce. I had to move back home because I had nowhere else to go. This isn’t what I pictured for ‘forever.'”
I reached for her hand, then hesitated, letting my fingers fall back to the step.
“I never had a ‘forever’ like you did, but I understand what it’s like to have the rug pulled out from under you—starting over with nothing steady.”
“Funny how we end up right back where we started,” Jade said, smiling warmly as the porch light glowed on her face. For a moment, it felt like all the years between us disappeared, until Lila ran up, grabbing my hand to chase a particularly elusive firefly.
Days fell into a routine. In the mornings, Jade would come by to keep Grandpa company while I spent my time at the library searching for jobs.
Then came the day everything changed. I returned from yet another fruitless job search and heard a thud from Grandpa’s room. Rushing in, I found him on the floor, struggling to sit up. My heart pounded as I helped him back to bed.
“I’m fine,” he insisted, though his face was pale and his breathing was shallow. “I just got dizzy.”
“I’m calling the doctor,” I said, my hands trembling as I reached for my phone.
He grumbled, “No need to fuss,” not resisting my help.
After I made the call, he looked at me with a mix of acceptance and deep weariness I’d never seen before. “I’m tired, kiddo—tired in a way that no nap can fix.” Before I could reply, the front door opened and Jade’s voice called out. She found us in the bedroom, saw the worry etched on my face, and asked, “What happened?”
“Just a little tumble,” Grandpa said dismissively.
Later, when he had fallen asleep, Jade found me in the kitchen, hands still shaking as I tried to make coffee.
“Hey, he’s okay right now. You’re okay. Just breathe, Wyatt,” she said, gripping my arm firmly. I sank into a chair, head in my hands, feeling the reality I’d been avoiding closing in on me.
That afternoon, Lila came by proudly holding a crayon drawing she had made for Grandpa Joe—a picture of stick figures holding hands in a field of flowers: me, Jade, and Lila. The drawing stirred an indescribable feeling deep within me.
Three days later, I received a call for a job interview for an administrative position at a rehabilitation center working with occupational therapy students. But the interview was scheduled for the same day as Grandpa’s follow-up appointment with his specialist.
“I can take him,” Jade immediately offered after I explained my dilemma. “You should go to that interview.”
“Really? Even with everything you’ve got going on?” I asked.
She smiled, “We help each other.”
After the interview, feeling cautiously optimistic, I returned home to find Jade waiting in the kitchen, her concerned eyes making my stomach twist.
“How is he?” I asked.
“The trip really took its toll—he’s been sleeping ever since we got back,” she replied quietly.
I found Grandpa in bed, his eyes closed and breathing shallow. I watched him sleep, noting how the illness had stripped away everything except the essence of who he was.
The next morning, Grandpa asked me to help him to his favorite chair by the window.
“Want to watch the birds?” he explained.
I settled him in with a blanket and made sure his medicine and water were within reach. He looked content, gazing out at the garden he’d tended for decades.
Later that early afternoon, when I noticed he hadn’t stirred for a long while, a chill raced through me. Rushing to the living room, I found him just as I’d left him—hands folded, eyes closed. But when I touched his hand, I felt an unnerving stillness and coldness. He was gone.
“No,” I whispered, sinking to my knees beside his chair. “Please, no.”
I don’t know how long I stayed there, forehead pressed against his knee, tears soaking into the blanket. Minutes or hours, it didn’t matter—the world had shattered around me.
I barely noticed the front door open until Jade was beside me. “Wyatt,” she said softly, and then, seeing my broken face, she sank down and held me as I wept. She said nothing, simply keeping me in her arms as I fell apart.
After the funeral, I discovered a letter on Grandpa’s bedside table—a plain white envelope with my name written in his trembling handwriting. I took it to his chair—now my chair—and opened it with shaking fingers. It read:
Kiddo—
You made me proud every single day; I hope you know that. I need you to go live now. Chase something for yourself; finish your degree and go change the world. And when times get tough, remember—I’ll always be with you.
Go live, Wyatt. For both of us.
Love, Pops.
I read it over and over until the words blurred with tears, then folded it carefully and kept it in my wallet.
That afternoon, I called the rehabilitation center and accepted their job offer. It wasn’t perfect, but it was in my field and would keep me steady enough to eventually return to college.
A week later, Jade invited me to dinner at her parents’ house. The warmth of their home enveloped me as soon as I arrived—the scent of home cooking and Lila’s excited chatter over her latest drawings brought back memories of dinners with my parents and quiet meals with Grandpa.
After dinner, while her parents entertained Lila in the living room, Jade and I washed dishes together at the sink.
“You know,” I said as I handed her a plate, “for the first time in a long while, I’m not expecting something to go wrong.”
She paused mid-wipe, “Maybe it’s time to stop waiting, Wyatt. Maybe it’s time to start making things right.”
We turned toward each other, our hands still wet, standing so close in that small kitchen.
“There’s something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time,” I admitted softly.
A smile spread across her face. “Then don’t wait.”
When our lips met, it began gently, hesitantly, then with growing assurance—like returning home after a long journey to find everything just as you left it, only somehow even better.
A delighted giggle rang out from the doorway: “Mommy’s kissing Wyatt!”
We laughed, breaking apart to see Lila watching us with wide eyes as her parents smiled knowingly in the background.
It wasn’t the life I had planned, but perhaps it was exactly the one I needed.