I picked out his coffin. His mother couldn’t do it so she asked me to do it for her. I didn’t hesitate. I knew what needed to be done.
His father and sister where there and maybe his brother but I can’t remember now who was in the room.
How do you pick out a coffin for a seventeen year old kid? It turned out not to be that hard. Coffins have only one purpose.
There’s the urn section on the other side of the room. None of this funeral business is new to me. It’s pretty much the same way each time someone in the family dies. Go pick out the coffin and don’t buy any of the flower’s the funeral home tries to sell you.
Call the priest and tell him you want something simple and short. Then call the cemetery and have them open up the family’s plot that’s already pre-paid.
Show up on the day scheduled and then go eat at your uncle’s house. Cesare decided to end his life the night before Thanksgiving 2014.
There’s really nothing more to say about it then that. He killed himself. He was seventeen and suffering from depression.
There was a funeral and we buried him next to his grandparents. I was there to help pick up the shit he created and the job with never be done.
His death is a part of a family only left with his piano. His room is off-limits but his absence never leaves the family he destroyed. I forgive him but only with my anger still living in that coffin.