Crabbing with Granddad and Grandpa

Since then, I’ve lived on Maryland’s Eastern Shore, right across Chesapeake Bay from the area where I grew up in Southern Maryland. There are three things these two regions have in common: a slower pace of life; a summer patchwork of yellow corn, green soybeans, and golden grains; and life on the water. I don’t think I could ever call anyplace home that wasn’t connected to water or didn’t contain memories of crabbing with Granddad.

From the time I could walk until I was eighteen, there was no place in the world I wanted to be other than at my grandparents’ house, particularly out on the boat with Granddad. Our mornings spent pulling up crab pots were the inspiration for my children’s book, Crabbing With Granddad. Those days were some of the best of my life.

 

Wanting to Stay

I have vivid memories of being about three or four years old, holding onto Granddad’s legs for dear life, begging him with tears in my eyes, “Please, Granddad, don’t let them take me. Don’t let them take me home.” Of course, there was no choice. At some point, I had to return to my parents, who were and still are the best parents ever! There was just something magical about being at Granddad’s house.

Alas, I grew up, and my grandfather passed on when I was eighteen and away at school. I was already unhappy. No, I was miserable. I hated the college I’d chosen. I was never a drinker and have never had any desire to do drugs. My parents were not rich, and I wasn’t worldly. Trying to fit into a place where everyone was the child of somebody — and by somebody, I mean a Congressman or Senator or actor or owner of a famous Korean technology company — where everyone drank and did all manner of drugs, was hard enough for me. Add to that the fact that, somehow, they all knew I was the “scholarship kid,” and my first semester was off to a bad start before the month of October had even rolled around.

 

Saying Goodbye

Around the beginning of that month, my grandfather was diagnosed with lung cancer. Along with being a waterman, he was a tobacco farmer, and he smoked as much as he grew. He’d been smoke-free for about five years by this time, but the cancer was already stealthily invading his lungs, a predator ready to strike without warning. On October 19, American Lit was nearly over when I suddenly felt like I couldn’t breathe. My eyes welled with tears, and I felt like I was choking. Though the doctors had promised chemo would do the trick, and Granddad would be just fine, I had this dreadful, inexplicable sense that he was gone. I left class and went to my job in the campus library, but my roommate was waiting for me. At the sight of her, I collapsed into tears. My mother had called the hall phone with the news I already knew was coming.

The rest of the week remains a blur to this day. I was devastated and knew I would never again experience that one-of-a-kind love that made my heart swell with joy. I didn’t know how I would go back to school and continue as normal; and I didn’t, not really. I didn’t get out of bed for the next three weeks. I was failing my classes, and I had fallen into despair.

In those days, nobody talked about depression. Nobody sought help from therapists or counselors. I was drowning in sorrow and didn’t know how to rise to the surface to catch my breath.

One night, when my roommate was home for the weekend, I was awaken by a bright light shining onto my bed. I blinked as my grandfather came into view. He told me I needed to get on my life, but I told him I didn’t know how to do that without him. I told him, what bothered me the most, was that I never got to tell him goodbye. He said to me — and I remember this like it was last night — “Why do you think I’m here?” I felt my whole body relax, and my heart somehow felt whole again. I blinked again, and he was gone.

I stayed at the school until the end of year, but then I transferred to the college where my best friend from childhood attended, and I made a new life for myself without Granddad in it. A few years later, after I graduated, I met a young man who also attended that same school. He had plans to attend law school, but at the time, he was a waterman, crabbing every morning at the crack of dawn to pay for college and law school. There was something special about Ken, and I often found myself comparing him to Granddad. Fourteen months later, we were married.

 

Returning Home

This past Memorial Day weekend, we had great plans with our children and grandchildren to spend the weekend on Ken’s boat. Of course, that included crabbing. Unlike Southern Maryland crabbers, my husband and others on the Shore run a trotline instead of pulling pots. Last year, when she was two-and-a-half, our granddaughter, Evelyn, dipped from the line for the first time. She was instantly hooked. She’s talked about it for the past year, and we couldn’t wait to get her out there again.

Unfortunately, Memorial Day weekend here in the Mid-Atlantic was a soggy mess. I was certain the kids were all going to cancel, and Ken and I would be alone over the holiday weekend. Evelyn would have none of that. She’d been counting the days to be at Grandma and Grandpa’s house and go crabbing, and there was no way her parents could tell her she couldn’t go.

I snuggled in bed that Friday night, contact and happy. All three of my girls — including Katie, who lives just ten minutes away — were asleep under my roof. Evelyn and her baby brother slept peacefully in the next room. All was well, and the world was quiet until …

4 AM – “Grandma, is it time to get up yet?” I quietly took her back to bed.

4:30 AM – “Grandma, where’s Grandpa?” “He’s out crabbing in the rain. Let’s go back to bed.”

5 AM – “Grandma, can I go with Grandpa?” “It’s raining, Evelyn. Let’s go back to bed.”

When I went downstairs at 7:30, I looked around and didn’t see Rebecca or Evelyn. I asked my son-in-law where they were. “Evelyn woke Rebecca up at 6:30 and asked to go crabbing with Grandpa.”

A couple hours later, they returned, and Evelyn told me all about their morning. Of course, she caught the biggest crab, and all the crabs went to school and had a party on the boat. What mattered most, though, was that Grandpa had come to get her at the dock and took her (and Mommy) on the boat with him.

 

Always Together

The weekend went so fast, and Monday morning arrived too soon. Once the car was packed, and Evelyn was told to put her shoes on, she looked from Ken to me, and her eyes filled with tears. She ran to me and threw her arms around my legs. She cried as she begged, “Please let me stay here with you and Grandpa. I don’t want to go home.”

Later, Morgan — who stayed an extra day — said to me, “I bet you love that Evelyn never wants to leave here.”

With tears in my eyes and a heart filled with joy, I nodded and told her, “You have no idea how that makes me feel.”

God works in mysterious ways. We never know what life had in store for us, but here’s what I learned. Life is a cycle that includes love and loss, but nobody leaves us forever. My grandfather has been gone for almost forty years, but he lives on in my heart and in the relationship between Evelyn and her grandparents. And I live every day knowing there’s someone in Heaven smiling down on me and on the little girl who idolizes her grandfather and continues the love story we shared so long ago.

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Copyright 2026 Amy Schisler
Photos copyright 2026 Amy Schisler, all rights reserved.