The Long Way Home by Phillip Overton
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Doug and Barry stood alone in the room with their Dad. The doctor had already stopped by to explain to the two brothers in medical terms the cause for their fathers’ death. The silence was easier to accept than some young doctor dryly warbling, ‘Your father seems to have suffered a blah, blah, blah, blah….’
The silence embraced them, comforted them as they stood shoulder to shoulder. Slowly a tear would trickle down the cheeks of both brothers, only to be casually wiped away without a word being said.
The two boys stared down at their father lying on the hospital bed. There were no lines on his face, no worry, no sadness, and no regrets. He looked rested, not the shadow of a man that had moved in with them back in 83 after spending seven years fading away while trying to get over the loss of their mother. He looked complete.
“When did it happen?” Doug finally asked, his almost low, scratchy whisper still enough to shatter the silence.
“Breakfast.” Barry took his time to answer. “I wasn’t due to start work ‘till later this morning. Thought we’d have breakfast together on the back patio, it was nice when the sun poked its head through the clouds. He wouldn’t stop talking about that train trip that he did with Simon yesterday. Anyway, I left him to go and make another cup of coffee and when I came back, I found him slumped in the chair.”
“Simon is going to be shattered.” Doug offered. “He was very close to his Poppy.”
They continued to look down at their father’s lifeless body. Soon the mortician would arrive to take him away. There was now so much to arrange over the next few days to say goodbye and lay their father to rest. Right now in front of them however was a whole life story, written on the face of an old man who although he had come into the world alone, had left behind a legacy in the form of his two sons who stood watching over him. Although time had ultimately taken his life from him, the expression on his face was that of a man who had taken the most out of life.