The one thing I didn't expect was how caring the people at the funeral parlor would be. My mother and my friend, Mason, his wife Nikki worked at the funeral parlor, and she was one of the first people to hug us. We followed the funeral director into a room filled with comfy chairs, water, coffee, and portions of coffins.
I thought it a funny thing that the funeral director told us before we went into the room that there were coffins in the room. But looking back, I'm glad he did.
My father sat down at a chair, and he immediately flushed, started breathing heavy and looked like he was about to pass out. He took some of the waters and put them on his neck so he could breathe better.
We started out talking about the basics for the obituary. What was Ryan's full name, his date of birth, his social security number, where was he born. I had to answer that question for my mom. She couldn't remember where he was born, well, it was more like she drew a blank. I told them where he was born. And then we started talking about his likes. The things he loved to do, and what he would be remembered for. He played the drums and guitar. He loved music. He loved sports of all kinds. He was a big guy with an even bigger heart. Who he left behind. Who was meeting him.
And then we had to make the choices. What kind of funeral. Open or closed casket. Do we have a viewing and a funeral for more than one day? Where are we going to bury him? We at first thought that we would bury him near a friend of ours. We would buy two plots, because he was such a tall, wide guy that he wouldn't fit into a regular single space. He didn't fit into a Queen sized bed. He had to sleep cross-wise because he was truly that tall.
And then we took a break. We couldn't focus any longer on the specifics. We took a bathroom break, and we got up to look at caskets. But then we were drawn to the urns. I started crying when I looked at my parents.
"I don't want him to be alone."
And that was my biggest fear. The single reason why I was crying so much through the whole process. I didn't want my baby brother to be alone. Maybe it's selfish of me to want to keep him. Not give his friends a place to go to be with him. But in less than a year his friends will have adjusted. They will have moved on, found new friends, maybe even moved out of this town.
But I don't want him to be alone. If he's buried here, I wouldn't be able to come see him on his birthday, on Christmas, on days when I just need to feel close to him. I didn't want him to be alone and scared. And that was my biggest fear.
Once I let that out, my mom and dad both let out a huge sigh of relief. Immediately, they changed most of the plans they had for his burial and for a graveside funeral. They picked out a set of three urns, one big one, one small one identical to the big one, and a little heart, for me. All matching.
And there was so much relief that came at that decision. We were able to proceed without as much heartache, at least on my part.
When all was said and done, we had been there about four hours. Planning a funeral is no easy task. I guess I hadn't realized how long it would take. I left there, feeling less afraid for my little brother. But I know it's not a choice many families can make. Culture plays a lot into how a family member is put to rest. Our family is so spread out; my father lives in Tennessee, and my mother and I live in Indiana. I plan on moving in the near future. I knew laying my brother in the ground would not be something that made us feel better, and I'm glad I spoke up about having him cremated.
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