Bruce Grayson was sitting on the riverbank fishing when his father walked past behind him, asked how he was doing and dropped the line of his favorite cane pole into the water a few feet away. Bruce almost dropped his rod and reel in the water upon seeing him since his father has passed away three years earlier.
Regaining his composure, he sat there grinning broadly. His father wasn't the sickly looking man in the wheelchair as he had seen him during his last days in the nursing home, but was an erect, healthy looking man with a springy step. As he watched, the line of the father's cane pole tightened, and he pulled out a two pound channel. He took it off the hook, put it in the bucket he carried and walked down the river that was line with hedge, locus and willow trees.
Whenever Bruce went to visit his mother in the nursing home she would ask why his father didn't come with him. An Alzimers patient, she was convinced her husband was helping bruce on the farm. She had been told many time that he had died, but it didn't register with her. Maybe he was on the farm walking up and down the river fishing, something he enjoyed before he lost the use of his legs along with numerous other ailments.
Since he hadn't had a bite all afternoon, Bruce reeled his line in, picked up his bucket and walked down the river to join his father, but he didn't see him again.