[Critique Group 1] Marcia's October submission

[Marcia Wick]

A Harmless Ghost Story

Oct 17, 2021

Marcia J. Wick

Word Count:  614

 

 

 

With ease, my Dear Old Dad swallowed his final breath shortly before noon
Monday, September 27, 2021, three weeks shy of his 97th birthday October 17.
At 91, Mom preceded Dad to the grave four years earlier October 21, only
four short days after making sure he got pie and ice cream for his birthday
that year.  Suddenly, the family had to shift from planning Dad's party with
pie to setting a funeral and burial date that wouldn't collide with the
anniversary of Dad's birth or Mom's death and funeral service.

 

For Mom, we avoided gathering on Hallows Eve at the cemetery, even though
it's the vigil of a Holy Day. Instead, we buried Mom November 1, All Saints
Day, her ashes intact in an urn as per Catholic requirement. Snow dusted the
grass that morning, highlighting the precision square corners of the grave.
Confused by dementia, Dad kept insisting on warm weather for his burial.

 

Unfortunately, the forecast for Dad's burial October 12 was for temperatures
in the 40s with a "feels like" index of 32, low clouds, high winds,  and
snowy drizzle. The drizzle came early as the six siblings rode to the
cemetery in the funeral home limo. 

 

"Mom's not about to let Dad have a warm burial day," we mused.

 

It was eerie to see Mom's grave reopened to receive my Dad's casket,
although Mom's ashes were sealed in a cement vault. Second to arrive, Dad's
vault was placed on top of Mom's. I couldn't help but ponder the
arrangement. To conserve land, married couples were buried one on top of the
other, I assumed, rather than side-by-side like my parents had lain in their
master bedroom for nearly 70 years. I had also assumed, being older, that
Dad would be first in and reside on the bottom level. Now, his remains would
remain stacked on top of hers for forever.

 

As we arrived at the military cemetery, a picturesque setting at the base of
the Colorado Rockies, the moisture tapered, the clouds lifted, and the high
country sun warmed me sufficiently to shed the black overcoat that I'd
inherited from Mom.

 

"I guess Mom decided to acquiesce," I whispered to a sister.

 

I envisioned Dad laid out in his casket, dressed in his well-worn teacher's
blazer, a pressed hankie stuffed in its pocket, his fingers secure on the
brim of a ball cap embroidered with the United States Air Force logo. 

 

"You up there, Ed?" Mom would say.

 

"Sorry to keep you waiting, dear," Dad would reply.

 

"I thought you'd wait another three weeks to enjoy pie and ice cream on your
birthday, but you couldn't have expected me to hold off the snow for that
long," Mom might mutter.

 

"I tried to cross over once or twice sooner, but the kids just kept bringing
me wonderful meals and, after a while, I lost the keys to the car and
couldn't find my way out of the house."

 

"I was afraid that would happen. You were getting forgetful when I left. I
didn't want to get stuck like you, lingering for years while the children
cooked and cleaned up after me. No thanks. I got out when I could. I know it
was rather abrupt and all, falling and hitting my head like that."Mom would
trail off.

 

"Now that we're together again, dear, could you conjure up a triple berry
pie with French vanilla for my birthday, please?"

 

"Oh, Ed. There's no pie in store for you here. But just wait until Hallow's
Eve. You can go trick or treating with all the other old fools around here."


 

Happy birthday, Dad! Mom's watching over, I mean under, you now.

 

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