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A rustling within the woods along the driveway sent a chill up my spine. I stopped to listen; if a grunt or growl broke the silence, I knew I was in trouble. Bears would start to hunt soon.

I need to close up the barn .

Darkness came quickly in these hills.

MY DAD’S expression hadn’t changed from the previous night. I’m not sure why I had expected it to. He looked up at me from a four-foot-deep hole in the far back pasture. The property line was clearly marked by a fence made from barbed wire; I couldn’t get further from the house if I tried.

It’s funny the things that ran through my mind when I was tipping the bucket to drop a pile of dirt on my dead dad’s body. “What do I need to be able to live here alone? He just had the fuel tank filled, so I should have enough gas for a while.

The guy from the feed mill just delivered a grain supply for the animals that should last until winter.

There’s plenty of meat in the freezer and canned vegetables.

I’ll tend the garden and pull eggs. But …

” The only uncertainty revolved around money.

“How will I pay for the house and the electric bill?”

The more dirt I pushed over Dad’s body, the more I realized I should have buried his face first. He watched my every move; I’m sure he had a better way of completing this chore.

Always did. A sort of satisfaction blew across me with the warm breeze as I pushed the last of the dirt into the hole, covering his face. A finality.

As an afterthought, I made a short cross out of sticks and placed it at the head of his grave. I knew I should say some last words, pay my respects, so to speak, but nothing nice came to mind. I spoke the only positive words I could come up with.

“You’ll never hurt Mom again. You’ll never hit either one of us again.

I’ll never hear your voice again. You’ll never call me a fat-ass or say mean things to Mom.

For that, I am thankful. Goodbye and good riddance.

” I shrugged. The universe won’t miss my dad any more than I would.

The time he had on this earth was wasted; he could have made much better choices.

Sun warmed the back of my neck on the ride back to the barn. A numbness replaced the tension in my shoulders as clouds formed. The scent of the coming rain blew in with the wind and I knew I didn’t have much time. I pushed the tractor faster and reached the backyard in record time.

While I had tossed and turned the previous night, I thought about the best place for Mom to stay. We had plenty of areas on the farm where she and I shared special memories. The barn, however, was off-limits for obvious reasons.

The pines beside the pond wouldn’t be a good area, either.

I wanted to be able to visit her on a whim and get to her relatively quickly.

An area of the land climbed the side of the mountain where Mom and I would go to rest after a summer swim.

The overlook offered breathtaking views, but it was too far away.

As I drifted off to sleep, it came to me.

There’s a spot under the oak tree on the edge of the backyard.

It was her favorite place to rest on a hot summer day.

She would lay out an old blanket and we would share a pitcher of iced tea and talk about school or what needed to be done with the farm critters.

It was visible from the porch and close enough to the house I could visit often.

After I spit on Dad’s grave, I did my best to avoid the bumps and potholes on the way to the house. When I stopped at the area I had chosen for Mom, I climbed off the tractor, then froze. I couldn’t move. It seemed like an hour before my legs gave out and I sank to the ground.

“I can’t do it. I can’t throw dirt on your face like I just did to … him. Can I?” No, I shook my head. But I had to bury her; she wasn’t alive anymore and I needed to give her a proper farewell. A respectful transition to the afterlife. If there was such a thing.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I should have been man enough to protect you.” I closed my eyes, lowered my chin, and winced at the memory of the gunshot. The first one. The one which took her away from me. “Will you help me? One last time? Give me the strength to do this.”

I manipulated the bucket controls and maneuvered the tractor to pile the dirt on either side of a hole. When I couldn’t dig any deeper, and couldn’t cry any more, I powered down the tractor at the edge of the steps leading to the porch and wiped my face with the bottom of my shirt.

Following my plan, I found everything I could think of to keep my mom comfortable in the afterlife: her favorite quilt made by her momma, a pillow, a locket given to her by her grandmother, the photo album of our life, and her bible.

I placed the items in the bucket and drove the tractor to the barn.

For the second time that day, sweat rolled down my temple, sopped up by the collar of my shirt.

Heavier than she looked, it took longer than I expected to lift her into the bucket and place her just so.

With her head on the pillow, I secured the locket around her neck, covered her in the quilt and laid the photo album and bible on her chest.

Unlike the previous time I placed one of my parents in the ground, I said a prayer to a God I wasn’t sure existed, then lowered Mom gently into her final resting place. She looked so peaceful with her head on the pillow.

I wanted to make sure she wouldn’t get cold in the harsh Alaska winter, so I pulled the quilt to her shoulders. At the last minute, I decided not to add the photo album to her grave so I could hold onto the memories we shared.

“He’ll never hurt you again, Mom. I kept my promise.” I pushed the last of the dirt into the hole and regretted not covering her face with the blanket. I hope she doesn’t choke on the dirt.