"Acute myocardial infarction due to atherosclerotic coronary artery disease." I muttered quietly. "That was the official diagnosis."
It almost felt like a sick joke.
"Pa didn't die because of a villain. Not because of kryptonite, or some cosmic battle… just obesity, a sedentary lifestyle, and too much beer over the years," I said with a short, hollow laugh. It escaped me before I could stop it — laughter that came from disbelief, not amusement.
I knew I shouldn't laugh — not here, not in front of his grave — but it slipped out anyway. Maybe it was my mind's way of trying to make sense of it all. The absurdity, the normalcy of it.
Jonathan Kent — the man who raised Superman — dying by something as ordinary as a heart attack.
And the worst part? I had seen it coming.
Through my… meta knowledge, I had always known there was a high chance this would happen. Just like Bruce's parents were destined to die, so were mine — in one form or another. In my case, none of my parents, real or adoptive, ever lived long in most Superman stories. It was supposed to mark Clark's transition from boy to man — but that lesson wasn't something I needed to relearn in this life.
I had even mapped out the most common reasons for their deaths — car crash, hurricane, or tropical disease — and did everything I could to steer them clear of all three. In Pa's case, I knew there was a high probability he would die of a heart attack; it's how he went out in countless versions. So I encouraged him constantly to live healthier, to go on walks. I even took over most of the farm work myself so he wouldn't be stressed.
In fact both Ma and Pa were supposed to get a full medical checkup in Gotham, but they kept postponing it. They never liked the big cities — said the air there "didn't smell right."
Maybe if I'd pushed them harder, they would've gone. Maybe the doctors could've caught it in time.
Still… after all those precautions, he died anyway.
It felt like destiny itself was mocking me — reminding me just how merciless it could be.
And the other cruel thing? My powers.
Here I was, trying my best to stay in the present, to give him a heartfelt goodbye, to just grieve properly… but my senses wouldn't let me. Even now, I could hear people across Smallville — laughing, eating dinner, arguing, watching TV. Life went on. No matter how badly I wanted the world to stop, it kept spinning, as if whispering, "Move on, Clark. Everyone else already has."
I sighed, closing my eyes, forcing myself to remember him properly — at least for this moment.
If I focused, I could hear his laughter again, his voice guiding me as he showed me how to drive the tractor, how to mend a fence, how to handle the cattle. I could almost see him in the green sofa, watching the game, glancing back at me with that teasing grin:
"Clark, why are you standing there? Come sit beside me. I would even let you have some beer — just don't tell your Ma, or she'll scold us both."
"Clark, are you okay, baby?"
A warm touch pulled me back to reality. I opened my eyes, and Pa's smiling face vanished — replaced by Ma's.
She looked beautiful, even in grief. Her simple black dress swayed in the wind, her blonde hair loose around her shoulders.
"I wanted to say goodbye to him looking my best," she had said earlier.
She wore no jewelry — only her wedding ring.
"I'm fine, Ma," I whispered. "Are all the others gone?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
"Yes. Many said they'll stop by the house this evening." She leaned closer, wrapping her arm around mine. Her sad blue eyes lingered on the tombstone.
The funeral had been held in Smallville's modest cemetery. It wasn't a grand affair — nothing like the Waynes' — but it was honest, just like him. Jonathan Kent might not have been a powerful man, but he was a good one, and that was enough for people to come.
Sheriff Nancy Adams attended, as did my school principal — an old friend of his. Laura and her sister Nell had helped us the most in preparing everything. Even after losing her own husband recently, Laura had not hesitated to step up and help Ma through everything, saying again and again that she considered us family.
Lana and Chloe on the other hand had both broken down in my arms; and as their boyfriend, I had to take time to comfort them instead. They were exhausted by the end, so I made them promise to go home and rest.
Several of my classmates had also shown up with their parents, but the most memorable was Amy — the girl I had rescued before. She hugged me, kissed my cheek, and handed me a small box of chocolates, saying they would help lift my mood.
Everyone had been kind — offering condolences, sympathy, and gentle words. I appreciated it, but I couldn't take much more. Phrases like "I'm sorry for your loss" had started to lose all meaning.
"Is Selina still refusing to come?" I asked, glancing toward the tree at the edge of the cemetery, where a lone figure stood half-hidden in the shade.
Selina had been distant since she heard the news. I had tried to talk to her, but she only gave me curt, one-word replies, staying silent most of the time.
Ma followed my gaze and sighed softly. "Let's just give her some space," she said gently. "Everyone handles grief differently." She gave my arm a small squeeze.
I couldn't help but chuckle under my breath again.
Grief… I don't even know if that's what I am feeling right now. I feel sad, yes — hollow — but I haven't shed a single tear. In fact, I don't think I ever have.
Maybe that's a Kryptonian side effect.
"I've seen you chuckling to yourself," Ma said softly, giving me a weak smile — an attempt to cheer me up. "I won't mind if you've got something funny to share."
"It's nothing…" I muttered. "I just… didn't even get a last speech from him, you know? There's always that moment — the father figure giving his son some great wisdom, that he could carry with him in his life. Something like 'With great power comes great responsibility' or 'You're here for a reason, son.'"
I swallowed hard, my eyes fixed on the gravestone. "All I got was, 'Son, you wanna see the baseball game this evening?' And I told him I had to train and would come home late. That's it. I don't even remember saying goodbye."
Ma's breath hitched, and she reached up to rest her hand over my chest. "Your Pa and I always knew you were born with something special — not just strength, but wisdom. You always seemed to know what to do, even as a baby. God gave you that brilliant mind and all those abilities, so we realized early on that the only thing we could really give you was kindness."
She gave me a sweet smile. "And love. We knew if we just gave you that — an open home, a place where you could be yourself — you'd flourish on your own. That's why we never tried to force our values on you, son. Your Pa and I… we never wanted to be the shackles that held you back."
I pulled her into a tight hug. "I couldn't have asked for better parents… I just wish I'd told him that."
"Believe me, son," she whispered, her voice trembling, "he knew it. He knew it in his heart."
"Still…" My voice broke as I pulled away slightly. "If only he could've stayed with us longer. I wanted him to see my future… to be proud of me — to see what I would become. At least know that I—" I stopped. I couldn't say it, that I wanted him to see me become Superman.
Ma brushed my cheek gently, her eyes glistening. "Just like you couldn't ask for better parents, we couldn't have asked for a better son. Your Pa was so proud of you, my handsome boy."
She smiled through her tears, caressing my face. "We couldn't have one of our own, so the gods themselves gave you to us. He died knowing that, Clark. So don't be sad."
"Hey," I said softly, wiping her tears, "no crying. You still want to look your prettiest for him, right?"
"Yes I suppose you are right," her laugh was quiet, trembling. She pulled me down and kissed my forehead.
I smiled back faintly, then glanced toward the road where a lone car approached through the dust.
"It must be your godmother," Ma said quietly, taking my hand as we walked toward it.
It was the Waynes — not just Martha, but Bruce, Alfred, and even Rachel had arrived with them, although we had only met a few times before.
Martha had called earlier, saying they would come only after the ceremony ended; their presence would have drawn too much attention otherwise.
My godmother embraced me for a long moment, shedding genuine tears. I appreciated it, but I knew someone who needed her comfort more than I did. So I gently guided her toward Ma and stepped back, giving them space.
Before I knew it, I found myself standing in front of the gravestone again — this time with Bruce beside me.
"I feel like I've been attending too many funerals lately," I muttered. "Each one with the same taste — families torn apart, wives widowed, kids losing their fathers." I gave a hollow, tired chuckle. "If they all happened on the same day, I could've started calling it Sad Father's Day."
"I think you have something in your chest you want to get out," Bruce said patiently.
"I do, in fact," I muttered. "It just feels so strange… Why? Why does no one blame me? With everything I can do, with all this power… I still couldn't save him. I couldn't save any of them." I clenched my fists. "What's the point of all this strength if fate still wins?"
More than anything, I felt sad for Ma — for the woman who had become a widow overnight. Her laughter, her warmth, her cheerfulness… all taken away so cruelly, so meaninglessly.
"I understand the pain you feel," Bruce said quietly, his gaze resting on the gravestone. "You're angry — at yourself, at the world." He turned toward me, his small hand resting on my shoulder. "But you can't keep holding on to that. If you bottle it up, it'll eat you alive. You have to channel it — into something greater, into your purpose. Your Pa would've wanted that for you… brother."
For a moment, I just stared at him. The boy who was still shorter than me, somehow felt a bit taller now, there was this change in his eyes… they seemed to be filled with resolve.
"This is the first time you've called me that — brother," I said with a faint smile.
"Don't get used to it," he replied, though a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
As Rachel walked up to join us, my eyes drifted past her — to Selina. She stood a little apart, her gaze distant, unfocused, watching us but lost in her own thoughts.
I let out a quiet sigh. I was so tired of funerals. So tired of loss.
We didn't stay long. Ma suggested we all return to the farmhouse — the Langs were already there, having kindly prepared food for everyone. The Waynes decided to stay until evening, though their presence could easily draw unwanted attention from the more curious neighbors.
Once everyone began to leave, I found myself lingering behind. I knelt beside the grave, my fingers tracing the carved letters on the stone. A faint, wistful smile touched my lips.
Jonathan Kent — A Good Husband. A Good Father. A Good Man.
I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the words sink in. If I could live a life that earned even one of those lines... I knew he would be proud.