GRANDPA’S POCKET WATCH WAS EMPTY WHEN THEY TOOK HIM TO THE HOSPITAL
The ambulance lights flashed against the living room window, painting everything in frantic blue and red as they prepped Grandpa.
I just wanted to make sure he had his watch, the one Dad gave him, before they wheeled him out. My fingers fumbled with the worn leather strap, then the surprisingly light, cold metal case. It felt hollow, eerily weightless in my palm.
It wasn’t just light; it was *empty*. It should have contained the tiny, brittle photographs – Mom, Dad, and the original deed to the old farm, folded and tucked inside for decades. My throat closed up. “What do you mean, *empty*?” I choked out, a raw, strangled whisper, as the paramedic adjusted the IV. The air in the house was suddenly thick with the cloying scent of antiseptic and old dust.
My aunt, who had been hovering by the doorway for what felt like an eternity, didn’t even turn around. The sudden, profound silence from her was a deafening roar in my ears. Her knuckles were stark white where she gripped the doorframe, her shadow stretching long and distorted, almost menacing, in the harsh hallway light. It didn’t make any sense. The watch never left his side.
A low, polite cough broke the tension from behind me. It was the night nurse, clipboard in hand, looking at us both with an unreadable expression.
“He asked me to hold onto it for him, honey,” my aunt finally said, her voice now completely unfamiliar.
👇 Full story continued in the comments…“Hold onto what?” I swiveled, my eyes darting between my aunt’s rigid back and the nurse’s placid face.
The nurse offered a small, professional smile and stepped forward. “Mr. Abernathy was quite insistent,” she said softly, her voice calm amidst the lingering panic. “He asked me to take these for safekeeping before the paramedics arrived. He said he didn’t want them getting misplaced in the transfer.”
She reached into the pocket of her scrubs and pulled out a small, worn leather pouch. It was the same pouch Grandpa always kept his reading glasses in. Gently, she uncinched the drawstring. Inside, nestled together, were the brittle, faded photographs of my parents and the familiar, yellowed paper of the farm deed, folded precisely into a small square.
My breath escaped in a shaky sigh I hadn’t realized I was holding. It wasn’t theft, or some terrible secret involving the farm. It was just… Grandpa, thinking ahead, even through whatever was happening to him. Worrying about the things that mattered most to him – his family, their history, the land.
My aunt finally turned, her face etched with exhaustion and relief. “He asked me to find someone to take them, but I panicked. The paramedics were here so fast, and then she,” she nodded towards the nurse, “offered. I just… couldn’t speak. I didn’t know how to tell you without you thinking… I don’t know what I thought.” Her voice broke, raw with unshed tears.
I stepped towards her, reaching out a hand. The fear and confusion drained away, leaving only the sharp, present worry for Grandpa.
As I took the pouch from the nurse, the paramedics carefully maneuvered the stretcher towards the door. Grandpa’s eyes, though distant, found mine for a moment. He offered a weak, familiar wink. The watch, empty but now understood, lay light and cool in my pocket.
“Don’t worry, Grandpa,” I whispered, clutching the pouch with the precious contents. “They’re safe. Everything’s safe.”
The flashing lights outside intensified as they wheeled him out into the cool night air, leaving the heavy quiet of the empty living room behind. The watch was empty, yes, but the most important things were now held close, right where they belonged.