And wait, we did. It seemed to take forever before I heard footsteps approaching us from behind. I turned and was stunned to see a young woman walking toward us.
She was around 25, her blonde hair pulled back in a loose ponytail that whipped in the wind.
She was holding something small in her hands. As she reached us, she smiled hesitantly.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said, her voice gentle but steady. “You’re Peter, right?”
My dad blinked.
“Yes… Do I know you?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “But my grandfather does.”
Her name was Ellie, and her story unraveled like a thread I didn’t know had been pulled.
Her 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.”
She handed my dad a small gift-wrapped box.
He opened it slowly, his hands trembling, 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, her expression wary.
“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, tapping his fingers against the car window and muttering under his breath like he was willing time to speed up.
I was running on fumes but I didn’t care. I knew how much this meant to him, and there was no way I was going to let him down.
When we finally arrived, the house was quiet.
Too quiet. Ellie’s mother met us at the door, her face pale and solemn.
“He passed away this morning,” she said gently. “Just after you left, Ellie.”
The words hit my dad like a physical blow.
He staggered back, his breath hitching as he shook his head.
“No,” he murmured, his voice cracking. “No, we made a promise.”
He sank into a chair, 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.
It shattered something in me to watch it.
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.
Source: amomama
