Grandfather had walked the rocky path to the market a thousand times. But on this Tuesday, his sandal caught a loose stone, and he stumbled heavily, catching himself on his wooden staff just before falling.
He laughed it off, but Steve noticed that Grandfather’s knuckles were white as he gripped the wood.
Over the next few weeks, small things began to change. Grandfather rested under the olive tree longer in the afternoons. He asked Steve to carry the heavy water jug instead of carrying it himself. Sometimes, he fell asleep in his chair by the hearth before the boys even went to bed.
Mother noticed immediately. Without a single word of fuss, the quiet, steady foundation of their home began to shift her weight. She brewed extra herbal tea for Grandfather in the mornings. She quietly took over feeding the animals before the boys woke up. She moved with a gentle, fierce protectiveness.
One evening, Steve watched from the porch as Mother helped Grandfather walk back from the woodshop, letting him lean heavily on her arm.
When Grandfather sat down, Steve asked, his voice trembling slightly, "Grandfather... why is walking so hard for you now?"
Grandfather looked at Steve with clear, honest eyes. "Because I am getting tired, Steve. And a wise man does not wait until the storm to repair his roof. He asks for help while the sky is still clear."
Steve felt a cold knot form in his stomach. He didn't want things to change. He didn't want Mother to have to help Grandfather walk.
Grandfather reached out and put a warm, heavy hand on Steve’s shoulder. "Everything I have taught you in that shop—everything we have talked about on this porch—it is already inside you. You do not need me to carry it forever. You carry it now."
