Dear Old Man

Dear Old Man pt3

He kept the car running at 100 mph, sometimes pushing it to 120 mph. But there was a spot—a particular place where he’d have to slow down as the highway merged into a larger road. As he got there, sure enough, the road was busy, with no space to slip through and merge. He eased off the accelerator and went over a speed breaker.

It was in that moment that he saw it—TIME FROZE. The old man’s chest rose one final time, then fell. His head slumped forward. Marcus’s heart sank. He knew the old man was gone. But he maintained his composure. There was no time for grief. He pressed down on the accelerator, merging into the traffic with precision and speed.

In a matter of seconds, they were home. Marcus brought the car to a stop. He opened Evelyn’s door first. She was still in denial, whispering, “He’s just tired. He just needs rest.” He led her away; her emotions couldn’t be handled right now.

Marcus turned to his aunts. “I know he’s gone. Where to?” he asked, his voice steady, thunderous even, cutting through their shock and tears.

They looked at each other, overwhelmed by the weight of the moment. One of them finally replied, “The morgue.”

Marcus nodded, his resolve unshaken. “Let’s go,” he said. He climbed back into the driver’s seat, Evelyn now away from him, and the aunts still in the back, propping up the old man. With precision born of muscle memory, Marcus sped off, weaving through traffic with practiced ease. As the morgue came into view, Marcus’s hands tightened on the wheel one last time.

At the Morgue

They arrived at the morgue in a daze, grief hanging over them like a heavy fog. As they stepped inside, the main attendant approached, looking weary from his day’s work. He glanced at the small group and asked quietly, “Who was it that died?”

“Charles,” Marcus answered, his voice rough with sorrow.

The attendant froze, his eyes welling with tears. In a trembling voice, he murmured, “Not this man … He who once brought the dead here has himself been brought as a corpse.”

Jamie stood nearby, utterly still. No tears fell from his eyes; he couldn’t afford that release. Not yet. He steeled himself, saving his grief for another time when he might be able to face it. For now, he simply stood in silence, staring at the cold reality before him. He parked the car and stepped out, his heart heavy but resolute. The attendants moved with quiet professionalism, placing Charles on a gurney. Marcus stood back, feeling hollow, as the cool air mingled with the scent of antiseptic.

For a moment, he gazed upon his father’s face—calm in its final stillness. This is how it ends, he thought, the strongest wall I’ve known reduced to fragments of clay. A wave of regret and relief collided in him, bringing tears he tried to suppress, stepping aside to let them do their job. The attendants carefully lifted the old man out of the car, their movements deliberate and respectful. Marcus stood silently, watching as they carried him inside. A gold chain on Charles’s neck—one they both had fought over—he took off.

Evelyn’s sisters reached for Marcus’s hand. He squeezed back, offering what little comfort he could. Outside, the city lights twinkled as though the world hadn’t changed. But for them, everything had.

Charles’s Legacy

You see, Charles might have failed in his role as a father, but to the rest of the world, he was a tireless helper. Whenever anyone needed something—big or small—he was the first to answer the call. That dedication to others meant he was rarely home. Most of the people he grew up with were now elderly, and they seemed to be passing away faster than he ever imagined. In a single month, he might be responsible for organizing the burial ceremonies of at least nine people across different cities, which kept him on the road constantly.

In Her Eyes

In Evelyn’s eyes, Charles’s constant absence proved he didn’t truly care about his own family. She believed that serving the public always came first for him, and she never hesitated to remind Marcus of that fact. Over time, her words fueled Marcus’s resentment toward the old man, leaving a deep rift between father and son.

The Quiet Drive Home

The drive back from the morgue was oppressively quiet. Marcus kept his speed just high enough to keep moving and make the necessary phone calls. After dropping off Evelyn at home—only to find no one else there—he’d called his siblings while driving to relay the news and ask them to come support her. On the return trip, his phone rang incessantly, but he ignored it. Talking could wait; for now, getting home safely was the only priority.

When he finally pulled into the driveway, the house was already brimming with people. He didn’t feel like going inside. He knew what grief looked like—it wasn’t pretty, and he wanted no part of it just yet. So, he found a plastic chair outside, away from everyone else, and sat in silence.

Despite the distance, Evelyn’s wails cut through his composure like a hot knife through butter. His friend Dennis arrived a few minutes later, guiding his car into the compound. Spotting Marcus, Dennis bypassed the crowd at the entrance and headed straight for him.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

Of course Marcus wasn’t okay, but now wasn’t the time for honesty. “I’m hungry,” he replied.

Dennis didn’t press. “Let’s go get some food,” he offered, putting a hand on Marcus’s shoulder. It was a small gesture, but it felt like an anchor.

Over the following days, family members and friends streamed through the house, offering condolences and bringing whatever comfort they could. Yet someone had to keep the place running. Evelyn was too overwhelmed by grief to manage daily life, the eldest son was overseas, and the second son had his own household to maintain. That left Marcus to juggle everything—handling the home, supporting his mother, even helping her run the family business.

In a way, it seemed to suit him. Everyone praised his responsibility and composure. They saw a calm, collected figure, but Marcus didn’t have the time to be anything else. A quiet promise he’d made to Rooney echoed in his mind with each steady heartbeat, and he wore his reassuring smile like his life depended on it.

In truth, it probably did.

The Weight of Memory

The old man’s final days weren’t perfect. Tension, regret, and heartbreak all mingled with love. Still, Marcus refused to let him face the end alone. He gave everything he had to do right by his father—despite the complicated history between them—and in that final hour, it was enough.

As the morgue doors clanked shut, a quiet resolve settled over Marcus. He’d carried this kind of burden before, and he knew he would carry it again. Love comes at a cost, and memories weigh more than he ever realized. Yet for now, just for one breath, he allowed himself a pause. This part of the journey was over.