I'll Be Back to Join You, Jack

Dan’s discerning eye for naked, natural beauty took great care to select one long, unblemished, mahogany plank.

In spare time over three months, Dan kept me from severing my fingers as I sawed and sanded and sanded, and I finally convinced the skilled wood crafter to do the finishing work so I wouldn’t bungle the final aspects of bringing out all the beauty of the grain in the mahogany’s staining and lacquering.

As the sun set on Thursday the 19th, Spring had clothed Kentucky oaks and maples with the vibrance of new leaves, and it was the perfect time on a perfect evening to transfer my brother’s ashes from a plastic rectangle into the handcrafted mahogany box, topped simply with a pewter cross I found in New Orleans during the HoW trip.

I wood-glued the top, and gently waxed away my fingerprints, avoiding teardrop strikes.

Intent on his task, the grave digger didn’t see me 30 yards away, leaning against the hood of the oversized SUV, as he lifted a square, green mat and dropped the box to the bottom of the hole dug earlier by a tall auger, poised at-the-ready for the next someone’s loved one.

He shoveled and I wept and drove, neither of us wanting to look up or back.