How My Grandfather's Passing Taught Me To Not Take Tomorrow For Granted

My grandfather passed away two weeks ago after a drawn-out struggle with Parkinson’s and dementia. As the years passed and his condition worsened, it became more obvious that we weren’t going to get the man we loved so much back. Watching as these diseases turned the most brilliant man I ever knew – a physicist who worked on satellites for nearly 30 years – into a shell of a human being who couldn’t speak or take care of himself was among the hardest things I’ve ever witnessed.

Though his passing wasn’t the shock that some deaths are, it still broke my heart. My Grandpop was the family member I’ve been closest to my whole life outside of my parents or brother. When I was younger, he used his intelligence to help me turn a small, rigid block of wood into an aerodynamic car that placed highly in the Cub Scouts’ Pinewood Derby. Even though he had no interest in video games, he always asked me about what I was playing because he knew I loved them. I don’t know how he put up with my inane babbling about Super Mario 64 or Super Smash Bros., but he always did – and with great interest.  

As I got older, we made memories together floating down the Potomac River on fishing trips, or riding bikes along the back roads outside of his and my Grammy’s house. When I was old enough to drive, not only did he sell his old Ford Ranger to my parents so it could become my daily driver, but he helped me work on it when I wanted to make changes or upgrades to it.

The reason I bring this up today is because last night I had a dream about him. We were sitting on a non-descript lake throwing our fishing lines out into the water. He wasn’t the version of my Grandpop that couldn’t take care of himself; it was the version of him that I want to remember – the one that seemed like he could do anything. Unlike the time we spent riding the flow of the Potomac, everything was biting. We were catching so many fish we could hardly keep up. It was an absolute blast. I vividly remember hooking a giant fish – so big it almost snapped the rod. I finally reeled it in, but I couldn’t immediately throw it back in the water because the hook was difficult to remove. 

I placed it down on the ground while I went to look at the fish my Grandpop caught. After taking a brief moment to marvel at his catch and admire the time we were having together, I asked, “Why don’t we do this every weekend?” When I returned to the fish that I had hooked, the creature was no longer moving. It had died. It felt like I had only been away for a moment, but I must have been away for far longer. 

Within my dream, I realized the answer to both questions – why we didn’t go fishing more often and why the fish was no longer alive – was that I took for granted the time I had. We sometimes don’t make time for the most important people and things in our lives because we get too easily distracted by the day-to-day grind. I’m so thankful for all the time I had with my Grandpop, but I still very much wish I could spend just one more day with him. The moments we have with those we love are precious and fleeting. Taking the idea of seeing someone “next time” as an inevitability is a dangerous game to play. 

The lesson to take away from this is to make time for those you care about. You never know if the time you’re spending with someone is the last, or if these moments are the ones you’ll look back on when you’re older as the most important and enjoyable times of your life.