A Heros Sacrifice

An old man once asked me how I became so strong in a world like this. I told him the truth: when you've endured as much pain and failure as I have, you grow numb to it all. That’s the worst part—not the pain, but the loss of feeling. You want to cry, but your body won’t let you. Instead, it buries everything deep until you convince yourself it was just a dream. Or a lie. But we all know the truth.

So, I told the old man, If I could speak to my younger self, I’d say: “You’ll get hurt. Embrace it. Feel it. Because it’s the only thing that keeps you human, the only thing that keeps you connected with life itself and humble.”

But I wasn’t the one to linger on my regrets. I chose this path. I wanted to be strong for my family and friends. And so, the gods —or God—put me through trials. One test after another. Many scarred me, some physical and some mental. Even some that make me feel like I’m reliving a horror film over and over. But every time the boogeyman came, no matter what form—goon or goblin, I survived, I leveled up. I told myself, If losing a part of myself means protecting the ones I love, then so be it. Their joy was everything to me. Not everyone would choose this life, but someone had to, right?

Still, out of all that I had said I’d gone through, the old man said he wished he’d had my strength. So, I turned the question around. I was growing tired of the topic.

“You have children?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, smiling wide, love etched deep into his wrinkles.

“And a wife?”

And then his smile faded. He looked away, with tears dripping onto the bench we sat at,

“She died… eleven years ago. Cancer. Still feels like yesterday. The kids and I don’t talk much about it. It’s still so painful. She was the light of this family, you know.”

“How long were you married?” I asked, which probably wasn’t the best to ask seeing how sad the old man had become, but something told me that I was the guy for him to let it all out on.

“Forty-seven years. Still counting.” He held up his hand, the wedding ring nearly fused to his finger as if it had been a part of his body since birth. I’d never seen a love so powerful. I was jealous.

The moment struck me. To love and be loved for so long… To raise children who now had families of their own. He might not have had my strength, but he was blessed with something I could never fathom—a family of my own, a a family at peace, that hadn't been fucked around with from generation to generation. It pissed me off. It reminded me of why I did what I did. If my family couldn’t be left alone then I had to fight so that they could.

Then the old man turned and said something I’ll never forget.

“You’re a hero. A true-born hero kid. My mother used to say some people are born to enjoy the fruits of this life, and others are born to protect that joy for them. She told me it was not for an angel to move the world through violence, but to instead move it through love and perseverance. To be patient and be unmoved by a world that was not as fair as the heavens above.”

“But wasn’t Lucifer a fallen angel?” I asked.

The old man chuckled. “No, no. He was much different. The fallen angels I’m talking about are also today known as Earth angels— people sent here on purpose. People like you, sacrificing everything for others. That’s the highest calling. Although, I couldn’t do it—not knowing what I had—my wife, my kids. But you did… Why?”

“I won't lie—it feels like a prison sometimes... But if everyone else is happy, that’s enough for me.”

The old man grabbed my hand. It was rough like sandpaper, hands of a working man. Possibly military. Most guys from his generation served at some point.

“It matters, son. And you matter too. So tell me… what makes you happy?”

“Helping my family and friends is enough,” I replied.

“But is it really? Or are you helping them for your peace?”

“I—no, it’s not like that…”

“You see what I did there?” he said, smirking. “We both know that’s not the whole truth. You’ve been through so much, you’ve forgotten how to open up. You don’t have to give up everything anymore. You’ve done enough. Start living for you kid.”

And for the first time in years, I felt tears rising. It was the kind of emotional release I hadn’t known since I was a child.

“I can’t,” I said, trembling.

“Oh, but you can. Let it go. They’ll be okay. You gave them the strength to stand. Believe in them, like they believe in you. Find someone. Have a family. Live.”

I broke. Sobbing into my hands, tears and snot dripping onto the ground. I’d forgotten what humanity felt like. Had I’d lost my way so much? Had I really become so militaint?

When I looked up to speak, the old man was gone. I searched, called out—but only my echo answered. It was strange. The entire park was vacant. Not a song from the birds, not a whisper from the wind, not a laugh or cry from child. Just dead silence.

I pondered on the thought of if the old man was real. And then something shifted.

“Excuse me,” said a woman’s voice. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

She was stunning—eyes the color of chocolate, turning gold in the sunlight. Beads on her wrist like the ones my mother gave me. She held a book between her arms. No title, no name of even the author. Just a brown book with interesting patterns etched across it.

“You gonna keep staring at the book conveniently by my breast or ask me my name?” she teased. “Or should I call the cops?”

“No! Sorry—I wasn’t trying to be a creep. It’s just… what book is it you’re reading?” I said, probably too excitedly.

She laughed. “Easy there, cowboy. Names first. Marie Window. And you are?”

“Chase. Chase Bowie.”

“Like David Bowie?”

We both laughed. Her smile? Dangerous—in the best way.

“So, what’s in the book?” I asked.

Marie smiled again. It was apparent to me that she was a smiler—the bubbly kind, but underneath I could tell I wouldn’t like her when she got angry.

“It’s a book I just found laying in the park by the tree over there. It slightly skimmed through it. Talks a lot about earth angels and what not. Sounded pretty cool, so I decided to keep it.

My heart dropped into my stomach.

“Wait… Did you happen to see an old man in a brown coat with a cane?”

Marie raised an eyebrow. “You just described half the old guys in this park.”

Fair. Still, she didn’t laugh at me. I appreciated that.

“I know we just met,” she said, “but there’s a bookstore down the street. You seem like you could use a distraction. I’ve got donuts too, if you need bribery.”

We smiled at each other. Sparks. Electric. I’d never felt such passion. Had this been the love the old man was telling me about…

To make a long story short, I’d gone with Marie, and five years later, we were married. Two years after that, we had two kids: Priscilla and Ox. I know, odd names—but she picked them, not me. But damn, time flew by faster than a speeding bullet. It was the phrase I always hated, of course, a bullet is fast so why would it be speeding. But let me digress.

One day, I was outside playing catch with Ox. Yeah, dads still do that. At least, I do.

I looked to the sky and whispered, Thank you. Maybe I’d earned this happiness after all.

And then—just beyond Ox—I saw him. The old man. After fourteen years, and there he was. We locked eyes, nodded, and then he vanished again. I was certain that he was the angel that had come to save me. To relive me of the fight and to finally be at peace before my time was done on the planet. Wherever he went, I hope it was back into his wife's arms.

I played the hero for everyone else… but he was my hero.

The moral? We all long for each other's lives sometimes. But life is a full circle—loss, love, regret, joy. Don’t fear it. Just live it. We all get our peace one way or another. My kids? One day it will be me and Maries turn to go, but I know hey’ll find their own way. They’ve got their mother’s humor. And they’ve got my heart.

They will make it through this Heroe’s sacrifice.