[wdfifteen]

I picked Brodie's ashes up at the crematorium yesterday. Two little white plastic boxes. It was a sad, long ride home. I'm haunted still by the thought of that happy, sweet little face - gone forever.
The family wants me to make a wooden urn with pictures of Brodie decoupaged on the side for the final resting place (for the mother's family's half). Dad will probably put his share in a Harley oil tank (I kid you not).
I got to see his brothers for the first time since Friday. They have their moments, but we had a good visit. The 8 year old was hysterical for the first couple of days, but he is getting straightened out. His father had told him that if wasn't so bad all the time his brother wouldn't have gotten cancer. So the poor kid thought it was his fault his brother died. He was a complete emotional mess until he told his mother what his father had said. We've all talked to him about it and I think he understands that his father was wrong/kidding/misunderstood or something. (No, we did not tell him his father is an ignorant POS).
I think I told you the idiot wanted to get paid for the hours of work he missed while sitting with his dying son in the hospital. It turns out that, in fact, he said he wouldn't be able to come to the hospital unless he got paid. The mom wanted the boy to see his dad while he was still lucid, so we paid him from a heath care trust that was set up for the boy. It still has about $6000 in it, which the father found out about. So he said he was really distraught and would need time to grieve and would we use the trust money to pay him so he could take off of work until the first of September. I said, "Gosh, no one can tell you how to grieve. If it takes three weeks, it takes three weeks." The other two trustees just kind of looked at the floor. When he left, we all had a good laugh because we're pretty sure moron believes we are actually going to pay him.
Life goes on. It's getting a little easier every day.