Published: 2025-08-25

John stood up, fixed his tie, and started his speech.

“My father was a good man. He would wake up every morning, take a shower, and go to work. Every day from Monday to Saturday. He never complained, no matter how bad things were. Once, he broke one of his toes; they put him in a cast. And even then, he would wake up, take a shower, and go to work. He had to walk over one kilometer to the train station, even with a cast on his foot. But he did it because he was a man, and a man provides for his family. We are gathered here —” “Boring,” Louis said.

Louis was John’s older brother, and he was not enjoying this eulogy.

“What is your problem, man?” John said.
“My problem? What is your problem? How can you pretend to stand in front of the family and feed them all those lies?”
“They are not lies, Louis.”
“They may not be. But there’s another side to the old man, and that’s what you should tell.”

John stayed silent; he knew Louis was right, but he was not a fan of speaking ill of the dead. Not on this day.

“Look, man. I respect you. You know that, don’t you? I have always looked up to you, and that’s why I wanted you to hear the eulogy before anybody else. Whatever the old man was, he was our Dad; this is not the time, nor the place, to vindicate ourselves. Can you understand that?” John said.
“Vindicate ourselves? There is no vindication, Johnny. There’s only scars. The motherfucker is dead; he didn’t pay for his sins.”
“Please, don’t do that.”
“Do what, Johnny?”
“Don’t call him that. He was our father after all.”
“He is not my father. He never was. You don’t remember, Johnny, because you were too young at the time, but I do. I remember being smacked in the face for asking for a sandwich or because I got distracted on my way from school and came home ten minutes late. He was not a good person, Johnny. He doesn’t deserve nice words.”
“Everyone deserves nice words. The man is dead; he cannot hurt us anymore. You have to let it go.”
“I won’t let it go. You want me to sit there and listen to you praising that bastard, after everything he did to us? Why do you think Marie didn’t come to the funeral?”
“She could not fly here, Louis; she has to take care of her own stuff. You know that.”
“She is probably celebrating with tequila shots that he finally died.”
“She would never do that.”
“Oh, but she would. She would, Johnny, because she remembers the pain, and so do I. Just because you were his little pet doesn’t mean he was a saint. He beat you up in front of the whole neighborhood, you don’t remember that, Johnny? People pity you to this day.”

John didn’t want to honor that last comment with an answer. He stood there, his eyes fixed on his brother Louis. Until he finally said.

“You know, Louis, I’ve been hurting as much as you have. I made my peace with the old man hurting me; he was a victim himself, he was hurt by others, too. What I didn’t ever think was that I’d have to be hurt by my big brother too.”

Louis lowered his head; he did not have an answer for that. John opened the door and stood by it, handle in hand. “I think you should leave. I have yet to finish our father’s eulogy.” He said. Louis took him on his offer.

Alone in his room, John prayed for the strength to carry on. He was exhausted, and his father was gone; those were the facts. All John wanted was to put these events that were hurting him and the rest of the family behind him.

With a knock on the door and a whisper, his mother signaled that it was time to leave for the funeral home.

Surrounded by flowers and candles, the body of John’s father laid in the casket. He looked at peace. How could a man filled with emotion, with anger, be lying so peacefully now? It seemed ironic; the ultimate poetic justice.

People kept arriving. Some came quietly and took a seat; others would approach the family and offer words of consolation. A third group would approach the deceased. Be it to pay their respects or to satisfy their morbid curiosity.

The time to read the eulogy came fast, and John knew that, for lack of a better metaphor, it was up to him to put the last nail in the coffin of this matter.

John stood in front of the presents, unwrapped his notes, and started reading, “My father was a good man…” Louis got up from his seat and left the room.

“He was indeed a good man,” John continued, “but he wasn’t perfect. He provided for me and my siblings, but he hurt us deeply. He was the hand that fed us, and the executioner who punished us. It pained me to say it, but it’s my duty to let the truth be known. We were victims, but so was he. He never gave us the love we deserved because he didn’t know how to, and for that, I forgive him. And I hope that in death, his soul finds the peace that his body could not find in life. Goodbye, father.”

With those words, it was over. John had found his peace. Life would continue, and the living could keep on living. John had something else to take care of before leaving town, though.

Outside the funeral home, Louis smoked a cigarette. John approached him and asked:

“Did you hear it?”
“I did.”
“And what did you think?”
“It was alright.”

Louis took a puff of a cigarette, and the smoke came out of his nostrils. He turned to John and said:

“You know, Johnny, I don’t think our father was a good man, and I never will.”
“I know.”
“But you. You are a good man, and I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you, man, you mean the world to me.”

Louis and John share a hug for the first time in years.

THE END.