Vikings

Heroic Memories

A friend’s brother died.

He wasn’t old, at least by my measure, but had a hard life in which he endured more than most. His body betrayed him, his finances dwindled, and he found himself alone, diminished by every measure, barely able to manage.

My friend, his sister, who lived on the opposite side of our continent, did her best to support him and stay in touch. Like so many men, he wasn’t gifted in keeping communications open.

His sister visited when she could find a space in her extremely busy life. When she couldn’t, she fretted about how was going to be able to manage. She marveled at how he carried on, even when his legs gave way entirely.

Though his death was sudden, it wasn’t entirely unexpected, given all the woes he carried in his body and psyche. A neighbor called to tell her he had been found on the floor, likely dead for a day.

He had kept a friend’s ashes to mingle with his when he died. He had told his sister what he and his friend hoped might become of his ashes. They liked to think of themselves as adventuresome Vikings, daring to sail their vessels into dangerous, uncharted waters.

When she learned he had died, his sister remembered a model ship she had kept on a shelf for many years. She prized the model, and now thought she knew why she had kept it. She put it in her suitcase when she flew to dispose of his belongings, and dispose of his ashes.

She took the ashes of both of them, hired a boat, and went out to sea. When they reached the right point, she took her model, now loaded with their ashes, poured oil on it, put it overboard and lit it.

If it’s possible to envy the dead, I envy those brave men. I envy even more having a sister who would go to such lengths to honor her brother and his friend.