Fishing with Grand Dad

 Going fishing with Grandpa is a memory I recall often. On mornings at the lake in a small boat, the sun would rise above the horizon, giving light and hope that the fish were biting. He taught me how to tie knots and how to cast correctly. What he enjoyed most, though, was the silence as he stared into the distance, which I believed was because he missed Grandma. I would ask him countless questions, not only about fishing but about whatever was on my young, curious mind.

Is it true I asked him that someday we'd see our loved ones who passed away and live in heaven. Is it true that those we lost can see us? Do we stay the same age when we pass, and does it never change? Grandpa would smile and try to answer my questions, telling me that when someone we love passes, our hearts are filled with sadness, but we remain strong for those left behind. Our hearts, although broken, will never really heal, but we do see them as we remember them, giving us hope that we will all be together again.

So Grandma is waiting for us, I asked. He smiled again, saying he'd be the first to see her again dressed like an angel with open arms. And she will always be with me, too, no matter how many years have passed, until it's my time to be welcomed with her open arms. When will you go, Grandpa I asked softly. That's not up to me, he said, and that's a long way off, so don't think about it, just cast that line like I showed you.

Grandpa got older overnight, and our fishing trips became fewer. He once told me that when the day comes when he can't get in and out of his boat, it will be the day he hands down all his gear to me. That day came some years back, and my heart was shattered. But the questions I had asked him as a young boy came flooding back as I waited for a sign that he was watching over me. Then, as if he heard me, I got a strike from what seemed to be a giant fish. I fought it for half an hour and finally landed it on the boat. I found myself yelling for him to help me, believing he heard me.

As I cleaned the fish, I could picture him laughing as I'd never seen him do. I gave thanks before we ate the monster of the deep and found myself telling my family about our fishing trips all those years ago. My grandson begged me to take him fishing in his great-grandfather's small boat, which had been turned upside down and covered with a tarp for many years. Before the sun could rise, we got the tarp off and hoped it hadn't sprung any leaks. I handed him my granddad's rods and reels, telling him to be careful as they meant a lot to me.

We floated around the lake, hoping for a nibble as the quiet engulfed us, and I recalled how my granddad enjoyed that part of fishing the most. But now it's my son asking the questions and me remembering his answers as if he were in the boat with us, and maybe he was. All I had to do was believe and picture granddad and grandma, who haven't aged one bit as they wait until it's time to greet me with open arms and angel's wings.         

Mike  2025