I wrote this story in 2022, and I’ve had to wait painfully until now to wrap it up. Sometimes, we can only wait until situations finally change, hopefully for the better, as they did in this case.
I’ve read stories about celebrity types feuding over a loved one’s remains. Names that come to mind include singer James Brown, baseball great Ted Williams, actor Peter Lawford, singer Ray Charles, and actor Marlon Brando. I never believed the same could happen to our family.
Dad had specific wishes that, when he died, we were to consult the United States Air Force Veterans Association. The military would provide body preparation and burial at no cost. My father didn’t want anyone spending a dime on his funeral. As a Korean War veteran, he believed that after 20 years of service, they still owed him at least that much.
He specifically wanted to be buried at Fort Richardson National Cemetery in Anchorage, Alaska. Mom is interred at Pioneer Cemetery in Palmer, Alaska. That was her choice.
After Mother passed, and before Dad died, my father’s new wife elected to sever all communication with our side of the family. Sadly, that happens more often than you think. This silence lasted almost seven years.
When word came that he’d finally left this earth at the age of 88, there was nothing we could do to make sure Dad’s wishes were followed. My brother tried, but was rebuked for doing so by Barbara, our father’s wife.
Jim and I were told that Dad’s body was taken care of by a local Henderson, Nevada, funeral home, and that he was entombed at the Southern Nevada Veterans Memorial Cemetery in Boulder some ten miles away. Having no say in the matter, we were at peace believing at least part of his directive was followed.
Curious, my brother eventually called the military cemetery and learned Dad wasn’t there. After more checking, Jim discovered that Dad had been cremated and his ashes were never mailed to the spouse nor picked up by her.
Trying to arrange transfer of the urn to us, Jim ran into a serious roadblock. To begin with, the second wife still had rights over it, and even worse, the mortuary holding these cremains, Hites Funeral Home and Crematorium, had been closed down by state officials for wrongful practice.
After many calls, Jim finally located a city employee who offered to help. Through this person, it was discovered that Barbara was deemed mentally imbalanced, thus unable to make her own decisions. When it appeared that my brother might finally get possession, another hurdle appeared.
A person with Clark County Social Services told him that Dad’s cremains had already been placed into a vault containing cardboard urns of 59 other ‘destitute’ people. Calling that statement a shock is an understatement.
Jim was only given the crypt’s location and visitation hours. By then, we couldn’t remove them without involving attorneys. Reluctantly, we had to wait things out. Jim felt that things would work out if we just had patience, which I didn’t.
Time slowly went by. After Dad’s second wife died in 2022, Jim petitioned the city to let us have the remains. Approval came fairly quickly, as the person he spoke with listened to the whole story and sympathized with what we’d been through.
Our next step was to fly to Alaska and have the urn reinterred at Fort Richardson National Cemetery. That would fulfill Dad’s wishes other than the cremation part. We can’t change that.
I’m elated to say my brother completed the mission, and Dad’s urn is safely back in Alaska, awaiting a burial spot and monument. Jim had to secure permission through the National Cemetery Administration, which took several phone calls.
Our father would be happy knowing “the boys,” especially Jim, fixed something that seemed totally unfixable. The old man had a dry sense of humor, and I use those words with reverence.
I picture him looking down with a smirk. After all the mix-up that his spouse, the funeral home, Clark County, and the City of Las Vegas caused, Dad would’ve uttered the following,
“I’m not payin’ for that mess!”
Fulfilling our father’s last wish is a biggie crossed off my bucket list. One lesson I learned here, at least for me, is to have patience like my brother and mother. Dad had little of that, and I inherited his genes!
