A new story!
More on the serious side for me, and a little bit sad as well...
Tell me what you think!
Prologue
John Rider held his wife, Elizabeth close to him as she cried into his shoulder. A man in a black suit stood just outside their front door, holding a package under one arm.
"I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. and Mrs. Rider. Your son was a good man. He died in service to his country. His wife as well." The man said without a hint of emotion in his voice. "You have our most sincere condolences. Good day."
And the man was gone, leaving the aging couple to mourn over their oldest son and their daughter-in-law.
Thirteen years later a hollow knock resounded through the Rider's home in Manchester. John pushed himself up out of his chair, wincing as his bare feet hit the cool floor. He padded down the hall to the front door and pulled it open, finding himself face to face with a square faced man in a black suit.
"Yes? What can I help you with?" John asked, stepping back to look at the man properly. A tight knot formed in his stomach. The last time a man like this had visited the news of his son and daughter-in-law had tormented them for years.
"Mr. Rider?" The man asked. John nodded apprehensively. "I'm very sorry to tell you this… earlier this week your son, Ian was killed returning from Cornwall. A car accident, you see. I'm very sorry for your loss. You have our most sincere condolences."
John closed the door and leaned back against the wall. Tears streaked down his face as he reached for the phone on the closest hall table. Not even sixty and he'd outlived both of his children.
John Rider stood to the left of his wife's casket, shaking hands with the well wishers and friends of the family who had come to pay their respects. And he didn't cry, he didn't think that he had any tears left in him.
Elizabeth had lived to sixty three before grief and stress caused a heart attack that took her away from him. John had cried when he got the call and again while picking out a casket and headstone for her. She was buried next to Ian, John and Helen in the family lot.
It hurt John when he looked through the crowd and couldn't find his grandson. He hadn't been present at Ian's funeral either, though John thought that he may have been consumed by grief and not been able to make it.
John shook another hand and offered another brave smile as people filed past him but he committed himself to giving his grandson a call as soon as the service was over.
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