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Her body becomes more rigid as time passes and daylight turns to dusk. We turn on the outdoor lights to help with visibility.
Although Lakeshia remains quiet, I sense her desperation. She’s waited so many years to give her father a proper resting place, and now that she’s fulfilled her promise to him, if his body isn’t here, she’ll be devastated.
“We’ve got something over here!” A crew member shouts from the large trench in the ground.
Lakeshia, Takeshi, and I surge forward without getting too close to the edge.
The men brush debris off a dulled black tarp.
“That’s him,” Lakeshia whispers. Sadness and relief leave her vulnerable, and Takeshi winds his arm around her waist.
She relaxes into his hold without taking her attention away from the proceedings.
The two men leave the ditch and retrieve a casket from the hearse. Under our monitoring, they handle D’Angelo with respect as they transfer him.
Once the men finish, we travel to the airport and watch the men load the remains onto the plane we chartered for our returnto Serenidad. Tonight, D’Angelo will rest in a funeral home, and tomorrow we’ll give him a proper final resting place, one reflecting his importance to Lakeshia.
At the house, we head to the bedroom, exhausted by the emotional day. As soon as we enter, I spy Marmalade and Creamsicle digging under the pillows. I nudge Lakeshia and she gives the kittens a weary smile.
“I think you need to find a new hiding place for your blankie.” The moment the last word leaves my mouth, Marmalade backs up, revealing the item in his mouth. His body is too small to properly retrieve it and he falls over more times than he stands to drag it from its hiding place. In solidarity, Creamsicle takes up where Marmalade fails.
Their antics draw smiles from the three of us.
“Maybe it’s time I stop hoarding it. I don’t need it to feel safe when I sleep anymore.” Lakeshia sits on the bed, spreads the cover, and places the kittens on top.
They circle each other and end up curling together in a cream and orange yin yang shape and yawning before immediately closing their eyes.
“Are you sure? They might scratch and shred your mother’s hard work.” Takeshi pets the sleeping animals, more concerned with the impact of today’s events on our wife.
“Yeah, I am. There’s a lot of guilt woven into my need for the blankie.” She rubs the soft yarn between her fingers. “Although this is the only item I have to remember my mother, I always questioned if I hadn’t demanded it as a kid if my father would be alive today. I’m ready to stop beating myself for a decision I made as a child. And honestly, I think the kittens’ attachment is a sign. I’m not throwing it away, but it’s time to pass it on.”
“But don’t you want to pass it on to our baby?” I ask, sitting beside her and holding her hand.
“I thought about that…”
“But?” Takeshi asks.
Lakeshia hums. “I’d like to remember my mother another way. Make what she started a tradition.” She raises her face to look at me and Takeshi in turn. “I want to crochet a blanket for this baby and if we’re blessed with more, for everyone that follows.”
I peer at my loves, an idea growing as I absorb the sentiment behind Lakeshia’s intentions. “I’d like to contribute to this new tradition we’re starting, if you don’t mind.”
She and Takeshi arch their brows in identical ways.
“I’d like to add a design to the blanket and Takeshi should, too. That way our child will have something symbolizing the safety all three of us will always provide them.”
“Dammit Shinji. I made it through the day without crying, and now look what you made me do.” Lakeshia pats her wet cheeks, swiping the moisture away. “I love the idea. A lot.”
Takeshi reaches behind her to squeeze my shoulder. “So do I.”
After yesterday’s emotional toil, we have another day to look forward to. Our car follows the funeral director’s hearse. We’re at Serenidad National Cemetery, traveling on a winding path. I haven’t seen a headstone of other burial sites for fifteen minutes. Instead, mausoleums on large expanses of land dot the landscape.
D’Angelo’s ultimate resting place will be inside the Kimura garden mausoleum Takeshi built years ago. Although his grandfather expects Katsuo to take over the global organization and eventually reside in Japan, Takeshi and I don’t intend to leave America. That’s not to say we won’t move from Serenidad,but we like this place better than most, have had many happy years here, and with Lakeshia and our future children, will want to be buried where we created our most precious memories.
Our vehicle stops behind the hearse, and we exit.
Lakeshia wears an electric blue color, her dad’s favorite, to commemorate the occasion. Takeshi and I wear matching ties.
Our mausoleum faces a man-made lake, hell to maintain during California’s droughts, but a feature Takeshi insisted on. Designed to be a miniature Buddhist temple, our family mausoleum has room for urns and full caskets.
