“Are you ready, miss?” he asks.

I nod.

He lifts the sheet and I see my father again.

His face sits still as a mountain, the high peak of his nose, the valley of his lips. His mouth is no longer frozen open, his eyes too are now lines.

“How did his mouth close? How did his eyes close? Who closed them?”

“Miss?”

“Who closed his mouth? How did it come to close?”

“We took care of that very gently, miss. It is a delicate thing.”

A cold body now, stiffer than when I last saw him, clenching in on itself. I reach to touch his hand beneath the sheet, and I draw back from the claw it has become. He is no longer hauling meat, no longer drinking, the breath gone. The ache in my heart could stop the world, stops my own breath so I am like him for a few still moments.

“This is my father,” I say.

The coroner drops the sheet.

“That’s all, miss,” he says.

He guides me away from my father. I can still feel the pressure of his hand on my lower back, propelling the base of my spine.

Then we get into the car and I drive us home, my mother trembling in the front seat. Later, in the night, they start their fires for his body.

◆During cremation, the body is placed in an oven that reaches 1,650 degrees Fahrenheit

◆Large magnets pick up metal fillings and body replacements after cremation

◆A pile of bones is left behind after cremation

◆The bones are ground into ashes which are given to the family

BEFORE THE SERVICE, WE CREATE A COLlage of his living. In snapshots: My father laughing in the quarry, my father young in swim trunks next to the river, my father as a chubby child, my parents on their wedding day, eyes roaring like hot stars.

NIGHTS, MY MOTHER SEIZES WITH HER grief until the prescriptions come in. Then, we gather around each evening to slide the white pills into our mouths, the three of us, our new ritual. I climb into my childhood bed, sleep thinly.

◆The custom of wearing unadorned black clothing for mourning dates back to the Roman Empire, when dark-colored wool was worn during mourning

◆In the 1300s, the color of deepest mourning among medieval European queens was white

◆In Hinduism, death is not seen as a final end; relatives should not weep, but perform funeral rites to the best of their ability

◆In Judaism, the central stage of mourning is Shiva, which occurs for the seven days following the funeral; mirrors are covered, and a small tear is made in an item of clothing to show a lack of interest in personal vanity

THE VIEWING IS OF MY FATHER’S URN, which is a large metal sphere. We set up the collages of my father’s life around the urn, which gleams its fresh silver in response.