My dad has always been the adventurous type, and I definitely take after him in that way. It’s something we’ve always had in common.
A week before his birthday, I visited him at the nursing home, and he said, “Fill up your tank—we’ve got a long journey ahead!” I was confused, especially when he mentioned some “very important meeting.” When I asked for details, all he said was, “You’ll find out soon enough!”
So, in true adventurous spirit, I went along with his wild idea. Three days before his birthday, we hit the road, heading for a coastal town he’d pointed out on the map.
After a couple of exhausting days on the road, we finally made it. Dad was visibly nervous, and we waited for what felt like forever on an empty beach. Suddenly, a young woman, maybe 25, approached us from behind.
My dad blinked. “Do I know you?”
“No. But my grandfather does.”
She was Ellie, and her story unraveled like a thread I didn’t know had been pulled.
Ellie’s grandfather was the person my dad was here to meet. 60 years ago, the two of them had been Boy Scouts together. They’d made a pact to meet on this very beach on my dad’s 75th birthday, no matter what.
“But he’s sick,” Ellie said softly, her words laced with regret. “He’s blind now, and bedridden. He couldn’t make the trip himself, but he made me promise to come in his place. And to give you this. Happy Birthday.”
He opened it slowly, and when he saw what was inside, he let out a strangled laugh. It was a baseball card in pristine condition, encased in a plastic sleeve.
“This is the same card,” he said, his voice thick with disbelief. “The same one I begged him to give me, but he wouldn’t.”
Ellie nodded. “He’s kept it all these years. He said it was his way of remembering you.”
Dad’s eyes filled with tears.
“I have to see him,” he said, his voice breaking. “I have to thank him.”
Ellie hesitated.
“It’s a five-hour drive,” she said gently. “And he’s… he’s not doing well. I don’t know if—”
“We’re going,” Dad interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Right now.”
The drive to Ellie’s grandfather’s house was tense. Dad was restless, and muttering under his breath like he was willing time to speed up.
I knew how much this meant to him, and there was no way I was going to let him down.
“He passed away this morning,” she said gently. “Just after you left, Ellie.”
My dad staggered back, his breath hitching as he shook his head.
“No,” he murmured, his voice cracking. “No, we made a promise.”
His shoulders heaving with the kind of grief I’d never seen from him before. This was the man who had been my rock, my hero, and now he was breaking right in front of me.
I kneeled beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Dad,” I said quietly. “The promise was honored. He sent Ellie and he sent the card. He remembered you.”
He looked at me, his eyes red and raw. “But I didn’t get to see him. I didn’t get to say goodbye.”
I didn’t have the right words to fix it, but I stayed with him, my hand steady on his shoulder as the waves of sorrow crashed over him.
Some promises, I realized, didn’t need witnesses to matter. Maybe this was one of them.
