“Do not bid him farewell, for he is a part of you”
By Michael Smith
The funeral pyre had been built just as he had requested years ago. Dressed in his combat gear his two sons lifted his body on to the pyre. His wife and daughters poured oil on him and the pyre. His brother had been holding the torch for almost a half hour as the departed’s surviving friends and family said their good buys. Now he put the torch to better use and lit the pyre. When the flame met the dry wood and oil the pyre was soon turned in to a beacon high atop the mountain overlooking the Pacific Ocean. That was the bands queue to pay, but not songs of sorrow and remorse but songs joy and victory. Barrels of rum and whiskey and vodka, and beer, and whine were brought out and those that came to say good bye began to drink. No one spoke of the good time or the bad times they had with the departed, they just enjoyed their last good time with him in attendance. The sun set and rose again before the fire went out. The sons of the departed had started a sober vigil at midnight and sifted through the ashes to find their fathers bones and want ever of the combat gear did not burn. A morning wind blew the ashes away as his sons put that witch did not burn in to a waited duffle bag. The bag was closed and cast in to the water far below. Each son and daughter was giver a pair of their father’s boots and a set of his military decorations. Their father was not gone he would always be a part of who they had grown up to be. They did not need to say good bye for he did not leave God had just called him away from suffering. His wife was set to move in with their younger son, and the rest of his children lived nearby, no one was left alone.
