12/25/91
Sixteen years ago today, I was in Chicago.
Twenty-two days before Christmas, years of smoking, drinking, drugging, and working around heavy machinery caught up with my father. Lung cancer took hold, and that was that. He was cremated, and my sister took his ashes back to Chicago.
I went to Chicago to scatter my father's ashes. My sister and I planned to scatter his ashes in Montrose Harbor on Christmas Eve, but I ended up sick that day and wasn't up for it.
My father's side of the family, with very few exceptions, were trash. A clan of angry bigots who blamed everything but themselves for all their failed dreams. I was staying with my father's sister--my sister lived with her at the time. My father's sister was angry that we didn't scatter my father's ashes on Christmas Eve and she slid into white trash mode (it wasn't a far slide; she always waded around in that mode, but Christmas morning she brought out the big guns).
As my sister and father's sister screamed at each other, I took my father's ashes, my duffel bag, and left. I never said goodbye to my father's sister, and I don't regret it one bit. I told my sister I was going to visit my cousins. My cousins (father's brother's children), are the only thing from that bloodline I liked. My sister, my cousins, and I were all close; so we spent Christmas Day with my Jewish cousins and aunt, eating some great food with even greater company.
After eating, it was time to do what I went to Chicago for: scattering my father's ashes in Lake Michigan.
We drove to Montrose Harbor, happy to see nobody else was around. My sister and I fought the wind and cold as we walked out to the end of a pier where, fortunately, there was water--not ice.
I'd spent a lot of time on the drive from Texas to Chicago thinking about what I'd say before scattering all that remained of my father. My sister gave it a lot of thought, too. I stood at the end of the pier with my sister, in the cold, looking at the little black plastic box that held our father's ashes. It wasn't a good holiday season: the drive up to Chicago was through rain, fog, ice, and snow. A bout with either food poisoning or flu had me vomiting most of Christmas Eve day. There was the argument between my sister and my father's sister. And nevermind all we went through earlier that month, putting a funeral together on the fly for a guy who had no plans.
There was a lot on my mind, but as I looked back at the city, all the lights of the town where I was born shining brightly--and then looked out at the lake disappearing into the dark--my head cleared. I didn't think of any of the shit we'd been through that month. I could tell my sister didn't, either.
"Well, I guess we should do this, then," my sister said.
"Yeah."
We took the clear plastic bag from the box, opened it--each taking a side--and we scattered my father into Lake Michigan.
It was perfect...for a moment, at least.
Just as we scattered my father's ashes, a huge wind raced across the lake, right toward us. My father didn't have much to leave behind except his tools and some cash we found from my father's less-than-savory side businesses (selling drugs and guns). I used the money for school; my sister blew through her money in two weeks. One of the things she bought was a very expensive suede coat.
Not one bit of my father's ashes blew back on me, but my sister was covered! She was able to get the taste of Dad's ashes out of her mouth; she was able to get his ashes out of her hair; but she was never able to get all the ashes off that coat!
My father was all about punchlines, and he definitely went out getting the last laugh.
Twenty-two days before Christmas, years of smoking, drinking, drugging, and working around heavy machinery caught up with my father. Lung cancer took hold, and that was that. He was cremated, and my sister took his ashes back to Chicago.
I went to Chicago to scatter my father's ashes. My sister and I planned to scatter his ashes in Montrose Harbor on Christmas Eve, but I ended up sick that day and wasn't up for it.
My father's side of the family, with very few exceptions, were trash. A clan of angry bigots who blamed everything but themselves for all their failed dreams. I was staying with my father's sister--my sister lived with her at the time. My father's sister was angry that we didn't scatter my father's ashes on Christmas Eve and she slid into white trash mode (it wasn't a far slide; she always waded around in that mode, but Christmas morning she brought out the big guns).
As my sister and father's sister screamed at each other, I took my father's ashes, my duffel bag, and left. I never said goodbye to my father's sister, and I don't regret it one bit. I told my sister I was going to visit my cousins. My cousins (father's brother's children), are the only thing from that bloodline I liked. My sister, my cousins, and I were all close; so we spent Christmas Day with my Jewish cousins and aunt, eating some great food with even greater company.
After eating, it was time to do what I went to Chicago for: scattering my father's ashes in Lake Michigan.
We drove to Montrose Harbor, happy to see nobody else was around. My sister and I fought the wind and cold as we walked out to the end of a pier where, fortunately, there was water--not ice.
I'd spent a lot of time on the drive from Texas to Chicago thinking about what I'd say before scattering all that remained of my father. My sister gave it a lot of thought, too. I stood at the end of the pier with my sister, in the cold, looking at the little black plastic box that held our father's ashes. It wasn't a good holiday season: the drive up to Chicago was through rain, fog, ice, and snow. A bout with either food poisoning or flu had me vomiting most of Christmas Eve day. There was the argument between my sister and my father's sister. And nevermind all we went through earlier that month, putting a funeral together on the fly for a guy who had no plans.
There was a lot on my mind, but as I looked back at the city, all the lights of the town where I was born shining brightly--and then looked out at the lake disappearing into the dark--my head cleared. I didn't think of any of the shit we'd been through that month. I could tell my sister didn't, either.
"Well, I guess we should do this, then," my sister said.
"Yeah."
We took the clear plastic bag from the box, opened it--each taking a side--and we scattered my father into Lake Michigan.
It was perfect...for a moment, at least.
Just as we scattered my father's ashes, a huge wind raced across the lake, right toward us. My father didn't have much to leave behind except his tools and some cash we found from my father's less-than-savory side businesses (selling drugs and guns). I used the money for school; my sister blew through her money in two weeks. One of the things she bought was a very expensive suede coat.
Not one bit of my father's ashes blew back on me, but my sister was covered! She was able to get the taste of Dad's ashes out of her mouth; she was able to get his ashes out of her hair; but she was never able to get all the ashes off that coat!
My father was all about punchlines, and he definitely went out getting the last laugh.