A Good Death

I always wanted to believe that my grandfather had lived a good life. Looking at his wrinkled face, I realized that his “good life” was many years before I was born.
“I remember,” my father once told me, “when I was about your age, me and Dad went camping every weekend. He would cut his own firewood with an axe.
“Now,” he said, “I don’t think he could lift a piece of firewood.”
I remember him telling the story when we were driving to Grandpa’s one day. The car was fast and the birds flew faster, but they did not go to my grandfather’s house. Neither did the squirrels or the bunnies; they all stayed outside of his property. They were scared of the guard dogs my grandfather bought to keep out burglars and pests, and this included other races.
The flowers were a nice touch of irony. Why are there always flowers at a funeral? Is it just to smear in the face of the dead that there is still life? On the other hand it could be to send something beautiful to heaven with the deceased, like Pharaohs’ wives being entombed with the Pharaohs.
“We are here today, not to mourn his passing,” My father said, “but to celebrate the long and fruitful life that he lived.”
Amen.
The coffin shut, and that was the last time I saw my grandfather.
“Goodbye, Grandpa,” I said, waving a bit.
My aunt, too cynical to play along, replied, “He can’t hear you honey.”
My mom gave the Aunt Claire a vicious look, and my aunt left. I thought it was unfair, since it was Aunt Claire who figured out what to do in the first place, but I suppose was also the person that was going to make the most gains.
His pet dog was my favorite of the members of the household. Carey would always lick my face and lay down next to me when I was reading, or watching TV. Sometimes we would play with her dog toys, and sometimes we would just find a small blanket and play tug of war. She would growl and bark, but she would always bring me another toy when she was bored of the previous. I suppose it is simply a dog’s way to play rough.
I remember the day that the doctor called about my grandfather, and my grandfather picked up. My grandfather seemed utterly shocked to learn that smoking could give one cancer. He went up and down the hallways, cursing. Every inanimate object could become the object of his targeting, including Carey.
“You stupid mutt!” he would scream. “Why are you so stupid?! Don’t look at me like you don’t know what I am talking about, you stupid mutt!”
He always used the word “mutt” as an insult, as if the dog had any way of determining how her parents had copulated or with whom her parents had copulated, even before the act of her creation. It never did make a difference that she was not a mutt, and in fact, a pure breed beagle. I personally think that he did not like the beagle because it preferred Grandma.
The clouds began to disappear in the sky, gradually,
My grandmother didn’t say anything the whole funeral. She just stood by a tree, and looked at the ground. She wanted to have a preacher or somebody else to facilitate the funeral, but my father reminded her of my grandfather’s saying, “I never believed in preachers as long as I lived, and I will be darned if I believe in them when I am dead.”
My grandmother came from a poorer family and had married above herself in classes both social and economic. However, if you were to ask her whether or not she had a happy marriage, she would say no. She never did like the way that he was: how pretentious he was, how arrogant, how greedy. Her mother had convinced her though, that it was simply a blessing in an opaque disguise:
“Do you want good clothing for your children? Do you want a stable home?”
My grandmother did want both of these things, and so she reluctantly chose him.
My aunt peered into the coffin, but instead of feeling sad and gloomy, my aunt looked like she was getting some sick sense of pleasure from his body void of life; the smirk that she gave him was one of the broadest smiles that I had witnessed of her. Now one could argue that she was simply smirking in unease instead of pleasure, but with her past, I believe it was true happiness.
Claire was apparently the most troublesome of the children. She was often late to dinner, and this was often because she was usually with a boy, but Grandpa was oblivious and would not notice if a bull charged into his house (unless of course it damaged his property.)
Her mother’s daughter, she spent many nights in with her boyfriend that they had apparently only met once with severe consequences. My grandfather said he was an idiot stoner. My grandmother said he was cute but lacked potential. My aunt, however, still defends that he was a nice “man” who “loved” her.
One night my aunt came home loopy with a different shirt on. My grandmother tried to rush her into the house when she saw her, but my aunt was not of the right mind, and it was not long before the screaming started.
“I think that was the angriest my father had ever been,” my mother reflected. “Looking back, I suppose he was just scared, like I would be if you, but I don’t know, he just kind of seemed… he just kind of seemed overly angry-angered by this one little thing. I mean, I am so glad that he never caught me, but everyone did it.”
After Aunt Claire had moved out, Grandpa was all alone with his wife, who wanted to see him about as much as he wanted to see her, so he bought himself a dog (which liked my grandmother more).
Several years of marriage had led to much mistrust and unease in the house. I did not realize how thick the tension was because I was too little, but my mother often made remarks about how every time she entered the house she “worried that one person was going to finally press the button,” and the entire house, “would burn all the bad spirits.”
My dad came back with a shovel and started digging.
“Why did he have to die?” I asked my mother.
My mom tilted her head and lip speaking the words she was planning to say.
“Well, honey,” my mom answered,” we needed the money,”
My mom was a true believer of fate.
“However,” she once told me, “sometimes fate doesn’t know what to do, and you have to do it for her.”