I’ve been to so many hospitals, churches, and cemeteries in the last two years that I have lost count. Too many. I’ve been forced to see so much pain, suffering, and death to last a lifetime. Too much. This tragic rollercoaster of emotions ends today. I will finally put an end to it.
I love the smell of cedar. I, especially, love the smell of cedar as it is being sanded down to its smoothest quality. The friction of the sandpaper meeting the semi-rough wood causes heat to build, releasing the sweet aroma. It’s like Christmas everyday. No place on Earth can compare to my wood shop. It is my sanctuary. My peace. My hallowed ground.
Two months ago, I attended the funeral for… For…? What was her name? To be honest, at this point, names do not really matter. They are just temporary place cards for those whose life was ended way too soon. This funeral was held at a beautiful Catholic church in the middle of a cotton field in central Texas. The overtly large statue of Jesus on the cross is a reminder to all of the congregation of the sacrifice that was made to ensure a life after death, should we only ask for forgiveness and repent.
Repenting is easy. Forgiveness, not so much.
The church was majestic. Despite their controversies and faults, Catholics sure do know how to create a stunning place to worship.
Funerals are boring. Too much sadness and too much dwelling on the past.
“She was such a great person. She helped so many people. I can’t believe she had to die in such a horrific way.” These same comments were repeated over and over as if someone would suddenly feel better after hearing them, or maybe, by saying them.
“This casket is immaculate. The craftsmanship is amazing. Look at those carvings,” I happened to over hear at the funeral. Her casket was immaculate, if I have to say so myself. The ornamental carvings depicting a life of service in the medical field contrasted with the gold inlays around the cedar lid. It was one of my greatest creations. Along with the thirty seven previous caskets I had created in the last two years. All now house the people whose lives were cut short due to alcohol or drugs or classic stupidity.
The wood shop is designed perfectly. Every tool is located in the exact right spot for utilization. One thing that I cannot stand is trying to find a tool but being unable to do so. Everything is precisely where I want and expect it to be so that I can complete any job I want without wasting time looking. I had been planning this shop for most of my life and, finally, was able to create it about five years ago. My wife and I had worked hard, two jobs each, for many years to pay down debt and get us in a position where I was able to quit my job and build furniture full-time. Ah, the furniture years. A desk I built is sitting in the mayor’s office in Waco, Texas. A sister to that desk adorns the home office of a movie producer in Alameda, California. My old college roommate, a neurosurgeon in Denver, Colorado asked me to build the cabinets for his 10,000 square foot home. Those were the good old days. Now my days are spent building caskets. Beautiful caskets, no doubt, but caskets nonetheless. The epitome of the representation of death. The death of my woodworking career.
Death now follows me everywhere. And it all started two years ago. To keep things short and to the point, my wife and four year old daughter were killed by a drunk driver. My life, along with theirs, ended that day. The drunk driver received a slap on the wrist. Maybe there was some time in jail, but I really don’t remember. It could not have been a very long sentence. Add to that community service, alcohol counseling, and a small fine. My wife and daughter lost their life and all he got told was essentially, “That was a bad thing you did. Don’t do it again. Oh, and get control of your drinking.” He deserved the death penalty. If it was up to me, he would get the death penalty.
I have heard people say that it is easier to live in the past than it is to experience the present. Those people do not live in my past. The last conversation my wife and I ever had is played like a broken record in my head, a bad song that constantly repeats.
“I am taking our daughter to my mother’s house and then will come back here. We need to talk. Things have to change or…”
“Or what?” I didn’t really have a strong rebuttal so I went with the childish remark. “Are you going to leave me? Take my daughter too?”
“Maybe,” she managed to get out through the tears seeping into her voice. “I don’t want to. I think things can get better, but… But you need to get better first.”
“What needs to get better? What do I need to do?”
“You are down all the time. Not sure why because I thought we had a great life. But you are down and then that leads to constantly drinking. I know you are never violent towards me or our girl, but it worries me that you might get that way someday. Anyway, I will be back tonight and we can talk. Is that okay?”
“Sure. I’m sorry. I will be better. I promise.”
“We will see,” she said as she walked out of the door to her car. We will see? That was the last thing she had to say to me? Oh well. I had work to do, and lucky for me, it was work I could do while drinking my scotch. It was hard to believe that just a few short hours later, my wife and daughter were dead and I was on the side of the road watching the medics carry their lifeless bodies out of the car.
Caskets are beautiful works of art that are designed to celebrate the life of the deceased. They are meant to be the last great testament to that person’s life as they are lowered into the ground. My wife and daughter’s caskets were amazing and elegant. I made sure of that. A coffin, on the other hand, is a wooden box that is barely large enough to fit the person into. It is merely a tool used to put someone in the ground, usually used in the old west to bury criminals and outlaws. The man who murdered my wife and daughter does not deserve a casket. He will only get a dusty cedar box. This unfinished coffin. All that is left to do is put him in it.
My wife had said that I seemed down, depressed even. And I drank too much. I’m not sure about the first part, but I definitely drank too much. I knew I had had a little too much when I left the house to try to catch up to my wife at her mother’s house. I seemed ok, I thought. Everything happened so quickly. Both vehicles completely mangled. Two dead. And me, not dead, alone and unpunished. The punishment will happen tonight.
The coffin is, in its rough and unfinished way, a work of art itself. With the inside measurements at seventy four inches, my body would fit perfectly. As I climbed into the coffin, I thought to myself how easy it will be for whoever ends up finding my body. Just place the lid on top, nail it down, and throw me in the ground. I deserve nothing more. I quit drinking that night and built caskets as my community service. Repentance done. I do not want nor do I ask for forgiveness. I deserve my ultimate fate.
Now, where did I put that gun?
Becoming Writer 2016 Anniversary Contest 