Ten Father’s Days ago, my brother poured Dad’s ashes into a creek.
In the weeks after, I could only remember the end. I tried to stay at better memories, but they all evaporated into serious doctors, my ailing father and finally, the end.
The next time I saw my buddy Nate, he put his hand on my shoulder, nodded his head and said, “Hey…ok?”
What he meant was, “If you need anything, let us know,” but it was communicated through a head nod and just two words.
I really don’t remember if I took him up on it. That’s not to say I grieved alone, I felt the support and love coming from Klawock, Manteca (CA) and the college buddies, but I just didn’t really know what to say. I did write which helped, especially through the weird numb phase when life tastes like stale crackers. You keep trying, hoping the taste will come back but it doesn’t. They used to be good, you used to love them, now you’re eating out of obligation not to waste the box.
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