Hold my Hand

 

Ramblings of a Retired Mind

Hold My Hand

Moving after retirement isn’t something most people do lightly—especially when you’ve lived in the same place for nearly your entire life.

Yet that’s exactly what my wife, her twin sister, and I did. We left the northern suburbs of Chicago and moved to western Montana.

And yes, plenty of people thought we were crazy.

Leaving Everything We Knew

All of our friends were in Chicago. Most of our relatives were there too—including those who now rest there. My wife and her sister had never lived anywhere else. Aside from a two-year stint in Stamford, Connecticut, neither had I.

We had lived in our home for thirty-five years. Thirty-five years of memories. Thirty-five years of accumulated “stuff.” Letting go of a third of what we owned was both freeing and painful. We also had a cabin in Galena, Illinois, which we ultimately decided to sell, furnished and ready for someone else’s memories.

Our house sold the day before it officially hit the market. Suddenly, this wasn’t an idea anymore. It was real.

Since I wasn’t retiring for two months, we moved into an extended-stay hotel while our belongings went into storage. It wasn’t glamorous—but it was temporary.

Stress? Of course.
Second thoughts? Not really.

Because waiting for us in Montana were four very compelling reasons.

Grandchildren, Grandchildren, Grandchildren

Our daughter, her husband, and our four grandchildren live in a small town on Flathead Lake. During a visit the year before we moved, we bought a vacant lot just up the hill from them. The view of the Mission Mountains sealed the deal.

We designed what we called our “dream home” and, six months before moving, found the right builder.

When we finally packed up the car and headed west, there was one more hurdle: construction would take six months. Thankfully, our daughter had a friend with a small cottage we could rent until our home was finished.

So we waited. And we watched little faces light up when Papa walked in the door.

There are far worse ways to spend six months.

Small-Town Living

Living in a small Montana town has its trade-offs.

Limited shopping? Yes.
Fewer restaurant choices? Absolutely.

But the upside? Everything else.

We get to attend sporting events. We take trips to the park. We make ice cream runs. We shop for candy we probably shouldn’t be buying. We are present.

And that presence—that daily proximity to family—has given us a renewed sense of purpose.

The Deeper Reason

There is something about aging that sharpens perspective.

We try to eat better and exercise more. Stay active. We tell ourselves we’re doing it for health—and we are. We’re doing it for each other. We’re doing it for our grandchildren.

But underneath it all is a quieter truth:

We don’t want to leave this world alone.

As humans, we’re remarkably good at avoiding thoughts of our own mortality. If we dwelt on it constantly, we wouldn’t be able to enjoy life. But the reality remains—we all have an end date.

Life without family isn’t really life. Its existence.

Having already lived longer than either of my parents and three of my four grandparents, I feel more strongly than ever about being close to my children and grandchildren. Moving away from everything familiar wasn’t easy—but it was necessary.

Hold My Hand

When my time comes, I pray my family will gather around me and hold my hand as my life slips away.

I hope they remember their papa being there—on the sidelines, at the park, in the car headed for ice cream, laughing at silly jokes. I hope those ordinary moments become the memories that last.

Is there anything better than that?

I want to live long enough to watch them grow into adults. To see them choose careers they love. To see them marry. Maybe even to see them have children of their own.

But most importantly, I want them there when the time comes.

No one should pass alone.

And if I have done this right, I won’t.