The next few days were a blur. Richard's body was sent for cremation. Much to my surprise, it took only a day for the remains to be returned, in a beautiful blue urn covered in military decals.
A memorial was scheduled to be held in Leo's place. I put out an ad on a few base websites from places my father served. I also messaged my mother but I wasn't holding out hope. In just over three days, Richard Blake's ashes would be cast into the wind.
Until then, the house was painfully quiet. I went to the clinic, putting in volunteer hours. If they didn't need medical staff, I would help clean bathrooms. Anything to keep my mind busy.
Once I got home, I found myself talking to the urn. Perhaps I was hoping to hear a voice from the great beyond.
Instead, the day before the services, I suffered an anxiety attack. It started with a bottle of scotch, peppermint bark and a bag of pork rinds. This 'midday snack' was meant to clear my mind, but instead it led to developing a mental obsession over the fact that I would someday forget the sound of my father's voice. I remember sobbing uncontrollably, vomiting in the nearest toilet, and eventually falling asleep in the bathtub where my father and I had made love.
When the day of the memorial arrived, I did my best not to be hopeful. I didn't ask for anyone to RSVP, so there could be anywhere from zero to hundreds of people attending. It was difficult at the best of times for military members to catch a flight. But if there were even a few people who wanted to say goodbye, this would not be a complete waste of time.
Over the course of the day, several dozen people gathered in the house. The celebration of life flowed into the garden area. There were active duty, and retired military of all ages and genders, friends and hospital staff; all there with stories of my father's kindness, and compassion. And then there was my mother.
My mother sat in the corner, under a shady tree, sipping from a flask. Not surprising since she had nothing in common with the other mourners. Her eyes locked with mine, but I quickly walked away. I needed a drink of my own.
My father's many friends were excited to share tales of Richard's heroics on and off the battlefield. Richard Blake was a selfless, kindhearted caring soul who went out of his way to be the friend everyone needed, when they needed him. He helped people through the loss of family, children, and other loved ones (sometimes holding secrets that could never be aired.)
What each of them felt for Richard was a true emotional connection, a sense of trust deeper than blood relations. It was all rather empowering, and soon I felt emotionally strong enough to pay my mother a visit. "Hey, mom."
"Hello, mijo, my love." She wore a plain black short sleeved dress with a Nike logo on the shoulder. it looked like something from the local Walmart or perhaps a store meant for a younger demographic (since she was struggling to keep the bottom of the skirt pulled over her thighs. "Sorry," she muttered. I drove all the way into town before I realized I didn't pack anything black."
I was surprised by the fact that she chose to drive instead of flying. "So, you went to Walmart?"
"No, it was a Goodwill or some sort of charity thrift shop. This was the only black dress I could find."
Fair enough. "Why are you even here?"
"I don't have an answer for that," she sighed as she lit up a cigarette, "The battle is over."
"And you won?"
"I guess," she said with a nervous nod. "I'd like to think you won as well."
"Because you were such a prize of a mother?"
Holding the cigarette between her lips, she reached into her light blue Kate Spade purse, pulling out a small folded photo that had yellowed with time. "If there was a funeral, I would have wanted to put this in the coffin, but since he's already cremated, I want you to have it." She held out the item, expecting me to take it from her hand.
I wasn't sure I could, or even if I wanted to. "What is it?"
"It's nothing, it's garbage." My mother blinked tears from her eyes, tossing the paper to the ground. "es solo basura."
The photo fell to the ground, unfolding to reveal a young couple wearing graduation gowns. My father was holding the camera, taking a retro selfie while my mother kissed his cheek. She looked so happy, sweet, in love. I picked it up, gazing upon the youthful smile of a man whose life was about to go to shit. "You're right. It is garbage. You never loved him."
My mother was now bawling, covering her mouth with her hand, as to not draw attention to herself. "Your father was the love of my life. That's why it hurt so God damned much when he cheated. Not only did he have sex with men, he found a love stronger than anything I could give him. And that's why I hate him. I hate him so much, but there will always be a hole in my heart."
I had no pity for her tears. "Dad told me he called you when he was sick."
My mother nodded. "He had just come back from deployment. Your father claimed he was in real bad shape. He wanted me to come visit, even offered to pay for my ticket."
"Did he tell you he was afraid? He was alone? Did he fully explain, that you and me; his family, we were all he had?"
She nodded again, still choking back tears.
"And you just didn't care?"
"In my mind I assumed this whole 'cancer' thing, was just a trick to get me to allow him to see you. That was why I acted the way I did; treating him as if he got himself sick on purpose, just to upset me." She held the cigarette between two fingers as she took a long drag, sucking the flame halfway down the shaft. "Please forgive me."
"That's between you and God." I sure as hell would not be forgiving her anytime soon.
"Speaking of which, are you actually... you know?"
"Are we on the subject of things that upset you? Or the things that I will need to ask God's forgiveness for?" My heart was burning with rage. "No, wait I know. How about: things that are really none of your fucking business?"
My intoxicated mother turned to me with a look of remorse. "I understand. I don't like it, I don't support it or accept it, but I love you." She took another long sip from her flask, choking down the mouthful of strong-smelling alcohol. "I pray for the day my mind will catch up to my heart."
"Yeah, me too." I forced myself to shake her hand before I left her to her solitude. Back inside the main room, the guests enjoyed Leo's food and wine. They spoke of Richard Blake's remarkable life. And when the time came, my father's ashes were cast to the wind.
I couldn't help but sob. I was swallowed up by the love and compassion of a room full of strangers, all showering me with praise just for being the son of such an amazing man. Surrounded by such love, I'd never felt so alone. That night, and for the rest of my time in South Dakota, I went to sleep in Leo's bed. I had a few more weeks in Leo's place. I mean I could have left, but where would I even go?
In that moment, I just needed to get some sleep. (Or try to anyway.) As it turns out, all I could do was watch the alarm clock ticking slowly. At around three am I felt Leo crawl into bed. "Hey, Jeff." He softly kissed my shoulder, as he proceeded to spoon my back. "You doing okay, kiddo?"
