2019-12-06 - Worst Part of The Job

Man and daughter stand in the drizzle at the Gardens of Eternal Rest, they've been there long after the others clad in black left. They watch the one man remaining as he removes the green tarp from the hillock of turned earth, pulls his shovel from the back of the ATV and begins the work of filling in the second of two holes cut into the grassy hill.

It's cold, it's December – but the work needs to be done. He could use the small scoop plow on the front of the four-wheeler to push it in. But he doesn't, and they wonder if it's for respect, or preference? He pours the dirt on the sides of the holes, surrounding the caskets, and going a little higher, rather than just dump the dirt in. Snatches of old songs escape him, hummed mostly and the pair don't blink when they see him stick a cigarette in the corner of his mouth and it lights itself. It's the first he's had, they know because they've been watching him when he dug the holes the previous day, while he stood out of sight of the mourners and when he came to begin filling them back in. They nodded to one another at the soft, sad, expression that held his features at each interlude.

When the man speaks the grave digger flinches, half turning and looks to the pair with a look of regret but a lack of fear. The one people called Thewlis had practically run when acknowledged by anyone at the graveyard, but for these pair there is only remorse, “Appreciate the care, friend.”

Thewlis gives a nod as he turns back to his work, brow knitting, a flittering glance to the two while he works, the corners of his mouth drooping further. He doesn't want to speak, never does, but the ones who linger always want a few words, “Always... bad. Deaths at the.. Holidays. Never good. Hate this part...” he admits, pausing his work to adjust the beanie covering his head.

Wouldn't you want to be done quicker?”

“No.”

The little girl tilts his head and rubs a hand against the side of her face, asking the question the pair both feel, “Why not?”

“Better... Th-thuh-they... deserve. They... Better. Deserve better.” it quiets them for now and Thew takes the opportunity to settle back into his task, brows knit so tight he feels a headache coming from the tension. But they don't speak, they let him alone and they watch him slowly relax as the hole fills. The casket is gone, and he is taking turns putting more in the grave and some into the small trailer on the back of the ATV. There's always leftover.

The pair share a look before they focus on Thewlis again. Feeling them watching he turns patting down the top smooth, just lower than the surface, perfect height for the sod he rolls over, to cover the grave, to take hold and blanket the spot with soft grass. They continue to watch and Thewlis wonders if they know what he sees. If they know. Or if they see themselves as they would ideally. The most part of him hopes they see themselves as their best selves. Not what he sees.
Her head has a angry red crack running down one side, only one eye is really moving, her jaw is pushed to the side... dislocated. Her chest is concave, where crumple zones failed and the dashboard had crushed her lungs and heart.

His neck is open, where metal that came through the windshield cut it. His arms are broken and hang limply when he bends them at the elbow... hands are pulp. Do they know how they look to him? He never saw the bodies, and the caskets were closed for the service. But he knows this is what they look like, in their boxes. In their holes. In the ground to rot.

“I'll have... Flowers. I'll have. Have flowers... delivered.” Thew mumbles to them, looking down at the grave markers. Father and daughter. Dead. On their way back into town after Thanksgiving. A drunk driver. A wrong turn and a moment to late. Of course the drunk lived. Thewlis hopes the man regrets it the rest of his days. Hopes he apologizes to the family. Hope he never takes the 'easy way out'. The man ruined a family. He should live with that.

“I'm sorry. It's... It's n-no-noh-not... fair.” Thewlis's eyes are over-bright for a moment before he dashes his hand across them. “I'll... I.” he swings a leg over the saddle of the ATV and with an action of muscle memory turns the engine over. “I'm sorry. Please rest well.” he thumbs the throttle and as he rumbles away he sees the young girl, no older than twelve, raise a hand and blow him a kiss. There's wetness on his cheeks, but that could just be the rain.