everything must die i know but now.. we gotta live

the tuesday after scott died, he was cremated. the funeral parlor that my dad found said that we could be involved as much as we wanted to. so my dad, mom, brother steve, husband mike, uncle chip & i met at the lp wooster funeral home. there was a viewing for a hare krishna set up for later that night. underneath the viewing bed, a handmade painted sign said, "you are now seated on God's lap." it was nice to picture scottie there too.

dennis, our liaison to the world of cremation, brought us to a different house which was used to burn the dead bodies. we stepped inside & it looked like any other suburban sitting room. dennis led us through a door to an immense cold warehouse room with a large steel furnace, that he explained was actually like a kiln. dennis started up the incinerator, which took a while to heat up, so we took a seat in the waiting room. my uncle couldn't take the loud roar of the heater so he stayed outside. my parents held hands.. for probably the first time in 15 years. it wasn't out of some imaginary hope for a future romance or the sadness of lost memories. but out of pure love.. for my brothers & me, for still having each other, for the loss of the son whom they had brought into the world only 24 years ago. my mom said how happy she was that they still have love for each other & didn't harbor any animosity that plagues so many other divorced couples. my dad said that in all honesty, it was scott & his issues that ended up keeping them connected when otherwise they would have drifted apart years ago.

dennis called us back in, where we saw scott's casket. it was a large cardboard box; on the top was written "scott parker" & underneath it said "head." dennis explained that bodies have to be burned in a certain direction inside the furnace. it was strange picturing his naked body, probably looking much like it did a few days before in the hospital but without any tubes stuck into him or machines keeping his body alive. i could so easily see his matted curly hair, dirty feet still smelly from not being washed, dried blood on his nose & other various places he had been pricked, his drunken pizza slice tattoo on the back of his left calf. we all kissed scott's box as dennis opened the mouth of the incinerator. there were no flames or ashes. but still the inside hazed over with heat, like the hot road on the horizon at midday in a desert. my parents lifted up my brother's body to the height of the opening, much like jacking a car up when changing a flat tire. we kissed the box again, when suddenly my mom started drumming on the cardboard. we instinctually did the same because that's exactly what scott would have done.

we said goodbye & pushed scott's body & casket into the kiln. we cried & cried & clung to each other. our family, which hadn't been a "family" in at least 15 years, would never be the same again. but here we were, needing each other like we never had before; squeezing each other with scott's vigor, as if he was hugging through us.

i was so sad while driving home: not looking forward to coming back to the house that held so many nightmares but also so many good memories of my brother; thinking about the wonderful staff at the hospital & how i never could have gotten through this without them; wondering what happened to the glove we had put on scottie on friday because he didn't look right without it. i passed by so many reminders on that ride.. & i realized that, for good & for bad, this would happen everyday for the rest of my life.

my mom called after dad & steven had picked up scott's ashes. the funeral director said that the hospital had taken such care with scottie & that he looked so clean. they had even washed his hair. he asked about the tattoos..
& why he still had a glove on his right hand.