Fishing For Time

I’d rather spend a thousand days not catching any fish with you, than spend one day catching a thousand fish without you. Yesterday I took my Grandpa fishing. I was filled with so much excitement I could hardly sleep the night before. It reminisced of earlier times when I was younger, camped out in grandpas camp trailer at catnip reservoir, the musty old smell of dust ridden sleeping bags and cupboards and the sound of crickets in the moonlight. Excited for first light, and the chance to catch the "big one".

Things are much different now. There's no more camping in grandpas 1980's prowler trailer anymore, no camp fire with s'mores and the Bud Light "he didn't give me". As I drove to Yerington to pick Grandpa up, I couldn't help but feel the same emotions as I did all those years ago when Grandpa picked me up for a fishing trip, but at the same time I felt a roller coaster of equally opposite emotions. Grandpa is still keen and quick witted as ever (especially with the ladies), however his memory continues to fade on a daily basis with dementia and Alzheimers.

When I arrived at the Senior care home, and they brought me into the room to pick him up, his face lit up with so much excitement and joy that I had come to take him fishing. It was as if he was waking up to Christmas morning for the first time. It took me back to an all too familiar time when he’d come and pick me up for a fishing trip.

We wasted no time finding a suitable fishing spot along the walker river. The fishing wasn’t great but boy the company and endless laughter sure was. I caught one fish and lost it at the bank. I was so bummed and felt like the trip wouldn’t be a complete success without at least one fish.

It wasn’t until I sat down next to grandpa and put the fishing pole down that I realized I had been looking at fishing all wrong for all these years. We sat and admired the beauty of the cliff in front of us and listened to the endless babbling of the river as it rushed over the rocks. We shared hunting stories and tips, and I even learned what dating life was like for an 88 year old man in an assisted living home. Boy let me tell you, they go right back to their teenage years.

I always used to equate the success of a fishing trip to how many fish we caught. I now know as I’ve gotten older that I was looking at it entirely wrong. My grandpa has always been my hero. The man that used to tie my hooks on, untangle my line, and out hike me to the bank of the lake was no longer able to on his own. Everything he had taught me over the years I was now doing for him. And I honestly wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

When you have a family member with memory loss, the leaving is always the hardest part. It’s like tearing a freshly healed wound open over and over again just as it starts to heal. But I’ll happily tear that wound open again and again, cause sitting on the bank with grandpa just enjoying the moment I realized the point of the trip was never to catch fish all these years. It was merely to catch a few extra moments that pass in the blink of an eye.

As we get older and busier, moments like these are hard to come by and I’m forever grateful for these spare moments God has sent my way, my hook may have come back empty but my heart is full.