My children have all been well looked after, Ive got a bit put by, and I shall soon be drawing my pension.
A few months have passed since the funeral of my neighbor, Edward. Wed known each other for over a dozen years, always living side by side. Not by mere chanceour families were close friends. We watched our children grow up before our eyes; Edward and Margaret had five. The parents worked hard, and through their toil, bought homes for all their children. Edward was especially industrious, renowned throughout our town as a gifted mechanic. There was always a long waiting list of people hoping for his help, and the local garage owner would practically pray for someone of Edwards calibrea man who could identify any engine fault just by listening; a true master of his craft.
Not long before he passedafter the wedding of his youngest daughterEdward would go out on his scooter for a bit of fresh air, but the spring in his step had slowed to a quiet shuffle, the kind you see in older men. Yet it was only that spring hed turned 59 He had taken leave from work, saying the boss begged him to stay on a fortnight longer so as not to lose customers, but Edward was adamant he wouldnt return. The day before he was set to leave, he went to speak with his supervisors, asking for a peaceful retirement, promising to pop in and lend a hand if they should ever be truly stuck.
Curiously, he didnt mention any of this to his wife. The next morning, when he ought to have been up getting ready for the garage, he simply stretched, turned over, and went back to sleep. Margaret hurried from the kitchen, having already laid out breakfast, hands on her hips:
Are you still in bed? Who on earth did I make breakfast for? Itll go cold!
Ill eat it cold, Im not going to work
What do you mean, youre not going to work? Theyre counting on you!
Im not going; I gave up the job yesterday
Stop joking! Hes retired, get up!
Margaret playfully pulled the covers off, but he just curled up tighter and shut his eyes.
Im worn out, Margaret, my times run out… Like an old engine thats been rebuilt three times… The children have done well, Ive got a pound saved, and Ill be looking to draw my pension…
What pension? The kids have plenty to dohome improvements, new furniture to buy, Sarah wants a car. Whos going to help them?
Let them help themselves. You and I, thank heaven, never denied them our help
Margaret came to my house in a muddle that morning, sharing their exchange. She asked my advice, and I passed on my thoughts about Edwards change in spirit.
He is truly tired, Margaret. If he says so himself, dont force him back to work. Let him have a proper rest; hes not a lad anymore lying under cars tightening bolts. Why, just last evening, I barely recognised himhe shuffled by, all stooped, almost unsteady. He came closer and, sounding surprised I didnt know him, said: ‘Im tired’
But Margaret brushed off what I said. Hes just sulking, all this talk of being tired! Ill get all the children together and they can tell him how much there is left to do!
Margaret, you cant carry on like this. How olds your eldestforty-five, isnt he? Hell be a grandfather himself soon. You cant always be the helper; let the children look after you now. Old age is knocking at your door.
Margaret was cross with me then and left.
A week later, all the children gathered at Edward and Margarets house. They sat around the big table, laughter mingling with a hint of uneaseeveryone knew this was not a normal occasion.
Margaret opened the family council: Your father is to retire; what do you all think? We cant keep helping as before; youll have to tighten your belts now
Edward interjected, No need for concern. Look at you allfive grown children with jobs. You cant manage to support the two of us, yet we managed to raise and provide for all five of you. Its not a reproach, just a memoryparents ought to help their children. But perhaps now its us who need a hand. Works hard for me, I worry Ill fall off the lift at the garage
After a pause, the eldest, Anthony, was first to speak. Instead of asking after his fathers health, he listed his own trials and expenses, finally saying, Sorry, but I dont have the means to help just nowperhaps in future
One by one, the rest echoed similar sentiments: new homes needed, dreams of new cars, all hoping mother and father would once again help fulfil their plans, indifferent to how mum and dad scraped together those savings.
Eventually Edward stood and said quietly, Well, if you all want me at work, Ill carry on for as long as Im able
The following day, Margaret came to me and, almost picking up where our last conversation ended, said, So, you see? The children came, spoke with their father, and off they all went back to work, leaving him tired as ever! Im worn out toowhat now?
Edward lasted three days at the filling station. An ambulance took him from the workshop. Nothing could be done for his exhausted heart, and once again the children were gatheredthis time for the funeral and the wake. We were all there too, sharing memories, talking of what a fine man he had been to his family and grandchildren. I so wanted to ask: Why didnt you look after him, when he asked you for help?
Such is the sad tale that befell our neighbor. Margaret lives alone now, counting every penny, for her children have their own troubles unresolvedIn the weeks that followed, the sound of Edwards laughter lingered faintly in the garden air. His empty chair on the porch became a silent lesson, a reminder that strength, once so abundant, does not last forever. The children tended the grave dutifully for a while, and Margaret found herself surrounded by neighbors more often than kin, as if those with memories closer to the heart sensed how precious company can be.
One quiet evening, Margaret and I sat together watching the sunset, tea cooling in our cups. She spoke softly, her voice tinged with the wisdom of loss, Sometimes you give your all so long, you forget its alright to let others care for you. I just wish theyd understood that sooner.
The garden bloomed unchanged, but the house felt differentquieter, like a clock that ticks on but waits for someone to notice its slowing pace. Word spread through town that Edwards hands would never tinker again, and people recalled his generosity, his tireless devotion, with bittersweet fondness.
In time, the children came around more often, helping Margaret with small repairs, listening at last to her stories. Something gentle passed between thema grace, a reckoningsilent but steady, sewing together what had been worn thin. And in that new chapter, Margaret found solace in the laughter of grandchildren and the kindness of those who remembered.
Looking back, I understood: life asks us not how long we can carry the load, but whether, in the end, we remember to share it. And as day folded into dusk, I felt the old world turning, gently and unhurried, making space for rest, for forgiveness, and for love to returnjust as Edward would have wanted.
