10 More Hugs: The Hidden Cost of Visiting Grandpa and Grandma Only Annually
A Return to Roots and a Sudden Goodbye
When my mom retired from her job at Abbott Labs at age 70, I was fortunate to be there for the occasion. We had just moved back to Chicago, where I grew up and where my parents still lived. I left home at seventeen to attend college and never thought I would return. My husband and I, with kids in tow, bounced between Boston, Nebraska, and everywhere in between. But it was our Nebraska home that my parents said they could no longer visit. The trek was too difficult.
The Gift of Proximity, and Its Brief Lifespan
So when we serendipitously found ourselves back in Chicago, my parents were thrilled. What I didn’t realize at that moment was my mom’s keen sense of time. When I asked her why she was retiring, she said my dad was turning 75 and wanted to spend more time with him. Plus, for the first time, her grandkids were local, and she wanted to attend soccer games, school concerts, and play with them at their lake property. Work would take up too much time. Our once-a-year visit with my mom and dad could be a regular occurrence, but it was short-lived.
Back to the Annual Visit Routine
True to our schedule, we were set to move again after just eighteen short months of my return home. I became part of the once-a-year visit to my parents' lake house, typically on July 4th. We might be lucky to get a holiday visit from them since they divided their time among all five of their daughters' families. They needed to be fair, so my mom kept track of whom she saw for what event. But she was deliberate with her schedule. She understood what we did not: time doesn’t slow down, and she wanted one last hug.
The Math That Brings Reality Into Focus
It’s easy to assume we have all the time in the world. Life gets busy—work, children, commitments. But have you ever stopped to do the simple math? If your grandmother is 80 years old and you visit her once a year, and she lives to 90, that means you’ll only see her 10 more times. That’s 10 more hugs. 10 more smiles. 10 more conversations. When framed like that, the reality is startling and heartbreaking.
The Illusion of “Next Time”
Human psychology leans toward the denial of mortality, especially that of our loved ones. We tell ourselves there will always be “next year” or “soon.” Technology makes us feel connected, but FaceTime can never replace a real hug or shared laughter in the kitchen. We take these moments for granted—until they’re gone.
The Stories That Are Never Told
It’s not just the limited number of visits. It’s the compounding emotional cost of what’s missed:
The stories never heard.
The photos never taken.
The wisdom never passed down.
The memories that were never made.
Each missed year isn't just a skipped visit—it’s a lost chapter of your shared history.
A Thanksgiving to Remember
In 2014, I had the fortunate opportunity to have my mom for Thanksgiving. We had a scheduled Family Council meeting that we invited her to attend. The purpose was for her to share her story of being raised in a family business. I prepared her with a series of questions for her to answer, such as the following: What was the history? Who started it? Who continued? Who were the decision makers?
The Gift of Legacy Through Storytelling
Without a thought to the significance, I transcribed the interview, capturing every nuance of her words in a neatly typed document. After our conversation, we transitioned into a lively holiday atmosphere, crafting cheese pierogi with the boys, eager to learn the recipe. Later, we gathered around a grand Thanksgiving feast with our finest china and shiniest silver. Unbeknownst to me, this joyful day would be etched in my memory as the final farewell with her.
The Lingering Weight of Regret
Many people express deep regret after losing a parent or grandparent, especially if they rarely visited. Regret is often tied to not saying “I love you” enough. Or never asking about their life stories, or not being present during their final moments. Studies show unresolved grief linked to infrequent contact can linger much longer than anticipated.
Final Words That Echo Through Time
Well, it has been ten years since she suddenly passed away. I talked to her every day when she was alive, so I did say, "I love you daily." And she emailed us every morning and every night, signing off with “Love, Hugs and Blessings.” But my last phone call to me, she said, “If only there was enough time.” And that was that, we never did make it to those 10 last hugs. She died at 85 years old.
Doing the Math of Love and Time
Do the math. If you are 60 or 70 and live to be 90, how many hugs would you have left? That’s a chilling but powerful reality. Don’t let the rhythm of modern life keep you from what matters most. Show up. Call. Hug. Laugh. Listen. If ten visits may be all that’s left—make every one of them count.
