So we had to spread my dad’s ashes in the mountains. I’m not sure if this was my dad’s wishes or just the suggestion of my overbearing mother. Anyway, it was a sunny day, a good omen. I remember being seated in the back of my brother’s blue Honda Civic when either my mom or my brother handed me a cardboard box through the window. It was similar, perhaps, to the size of a shoe box. This generic, cardboard box contained the ashes of my father, and I didn’t know what to do with it or where to put it. I decided to place it on my lap as I thought it would be somehow disrespectful to place it on the floor of the car. The only thing, though, was that immediately it felt much heavier than what I imagined a box full of ashes would weigh. Perhaps, I thought, it was so heavy since the entire casket was burned along with my dad. I wondered if the bastards at the funeral/cremation center knew what the hell they were doing. Besides, how did I REALLY know that the ashes were actually my dad’s? These were just some of my thoughts on the very long drive toward the mountains to spread my dad’s ashes. As we were getting close toward the top, the ascent made the car tilt backwards and allowed gravity to torture me even more. The entire contents of the box, in essence, my dad, felt like blocks of heavy bricks on my lap. I did not utter one word during the entire car ride, maybe lasting about an hour and a half. I did not dare complain, of course, wanting so desperately to put the box on the floor of the car but being so scared to do so out of respect for my dad. I can still feel the sharp corners and edges of the heavy box digging into my soft lap. So when the car finally stopped, I couldn’t wait to free myself, as well as my dad from that horrible cardboard box. Freedom, at last.
Tonight, on the second night of Dia de los Muertos, I lit candles and thought about Stuart (someone asked about him at work today) as well as my dad. Since they were both cremated, their ashes spread, their essence is all around me…
Dia de los Muertos…
