long after he was gone.
I had his ashes in the box,
the box they gave me at the funeral home.
The box was in my closet,
at more than one house.
It wasn’t fancy, but a hard brown plastic box.
My friends and I would joke about it,
I had “Bud in a box”
We had a lot of good laughs about it.
Being the oldest, responsibility fell to me.
I didn’t know what to do with it;
we often don’t know what to do with death.
Death’s uncomfortable,
sometimes unspeakable.
Laughter’s easier.
When I married,
Bud made his way to the trunk,
to the trunk of my VW bug,
and there he stayed for a year or more.
My dad rode around with me,
in with the spare tire and gas can,
wherever I went.
My mom said he would have found this hilarious,
riding around in the trunk of a VW Bug.
I agreed.
I thought we should do something
better with my dad,
something better than a brown plastic box.
So I went with my sister and brother;
we drove to Half Moon Bay, to Dad’s favorite beach.
I said a prayer,
after looking around wondering if this was legal,
and poured his ashes into the waves.
It seems less funny today,
looking back through the years,
but I know my dad would laugh with us,
in hearing about his adventures,
riding around in my VW Bug.
April 1, 2009
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3 comments:
Oh, my, this is so good! I like your dad just from reading the poem!
You are right about us often not knowing what to do with death.You have done a good thing.
Thanks Linda and Watermaid. I've been thinking about this poem for a while. It just flowed right out.
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