What do you miss that you didn’t realize was “the last time” when it happened?

The last time I went fishing with my grandpa. He was the one who taught me how to fish when I was but knee high. He also showed me how to read the river and how to observe and just be still — from him I learned how much of the world will reveal itself if you wait a moment or two for it to unfold for you.

He was an incredibly flawed man, but always patient with educating me on the things that matter when I was little. And he never got frustrated with my ceaseless questions.

The last time I went fishing with him was I think in 1988, when I was 12 years old. It didn’t stand out at the time because then I didn’t know it was the final time we’d do it. It was just a boat ride a few miles up the Santa Fe River then a lazy drift back down, tossing our lines out near the shore, hauling in glistening sunfish, looking at them, then tossing them back.

That river is so beautiful in the morning light with the mist rising like a haunting from the cool water.

I’d never want to go back to that age nor era of my life again. But I’m glad I have those memories.