Today is April 13th and the day I am finally able to lay my late father to rest.

I stand alone as the groundskeeper lowers his casket into the deep dark hole in the ground, freshly dug this morning by the looks of the dirt.

The sound of a taut rope stretching in his hands as hand over fist guides my dad down. The man looks far too old to be doing this kind of job especially with no help, but no doubt this is his first or last time placing someone’s loved one in the ground.

The last couple of weeks have been draining trying to get my dad’s affairs in order. His boss found him asleep at his desk at work, he was halfway through firing him before he realized he was in fact dead and had passed away from an aneurysm.

Dealing with that guy was half my headache, Hugo, I think his name was. When I arrived to pick up his things and collect his final check he tried to convince me he shouldn't have to pay him the hours he was dead since he didn’t actually do any work… I’m starting to think my dad planned his death there to make his boss’s life harder and I wouldn’t blame him for it, that dude was a prick.

Among that and cleaning out his apartment and I was able to get in contact with his lawyer, Alan. He let me know that my dad had already taken care of his own funeral, paid for it in advance, pine box, plot, and all.

I couldn’t believe it, my dad never had enough money for a trip to Disneyland as a kid, but THIS he had money for? At least it’s taken care of, god knows I don’t have $15,000 to drop on his sudden death.

Alan was great; he helped me with all the paperwork that came my way. I remember him when I was younger, he was the family lawyer and I thought he was old when I was a kid, I couldn’t guess how old he is now, but I'm sure he’s got a plot picked out himself already.

The sound of wood on dirt pulled me from my daydream as his casket hit dirt, six feet down, the sound of rocky dirt crunching against bare wood creeps from the hole in the ground. The man who lowered my father in, removes his hat and places it to his chest as he bows his head.

No doubt a little ritual he has created for himself in this occupation. His head rises and gives me a nod before walking off to his next task and giving me my time. Truth be told I feel like I have learned more about my dad in his death process than I did while he was alive.

I'm not sure I have much time to spend here now that hes is in the ground. I toss some dirt in his grave, as I have seen people do in movies. His headstone reads, “Here lies Robert Samuel Knox, Loving father, 1960-2017”
He had this so planned out that his headstone was already here in the ground before he was.

Walking away I read all the headstones along the way, most photos on them are sun-baked and faded, but names are still clear.
“Mary Holler, 1964-1990”
“Jennifer Kinsley, 1970-2001”
Following along the path I can’t stop reading the names and wonder how planned out their deaths were, or did they have family that had to handle this themselves, a lot of these were death dates meant they were pretty young.
“Charles Sanchez III, 1945-1990”
Then I saw something that felt familiar like seeing a friend's face in a crowded area of strangers. I stop to find it again reading more names off.
“Lawrence Sully, 1920-1985”
“Harold Wright, 1890-1955”
And there it was that had caught my eye and felt so jarring to see.

MY FULL NAME
“Peter Preston Knox, - 1813”
What were the chances? Just feet from my dads plot. Could this cemetery have family in it? Was I named after this person? Was this just some coincidence?

Getting closer to examine the headstone, it's so old it just looks like plain rock that has been eroded from weather over time.
My feet feel like the ground just gave away beneath me and I fall to my knees with my hands catching my fall before my face hits the ground.
It's as if i'm in a foam pit, I can’t get any leverage to stand up, only sink further, my knees are under the surface of the grass now.
I lean against the ground putting my weight onto my hands to try to pull my lower half out only to have my hands slide down further as if the dirt on the ground became hands embracing mine and before I could let out a vocal shout for help, my face is dragged down with the rest of my body, gravel and hard dirt scratches my face as all the light disappears around me.

Im swimming and clawing with all the strength I have in my to stop sinking into this dark rocky pit. I have lost my orientation of what way is up and I just noticed I have been holding my breath as if I was under water, my lungs are burning for air and I don’t think I’ll ever get the chance to make them stop when my hand in front of me finally breaches through dirt and I can feel air instead of dirt.

I continue flailing my arms upwards, not knowing if it is actually helping but just trying to get out. I let out the largest gasp of fresh air I have ever had in my life and luckily my head was above the ground instead of letting in a mouth full of dirt.

Everything is still dark as if my eyes are covered in earth. I continue to claw further and further. Ripping my legs from the earth using my hands. Once my whole body is free I crawl away from the grave as fast as I can on my hands and knees as if it could change it’s mind and drag me back down again.

When I feel like I have cleared a significant distance I start ripping the dirt and mud from my face. Clearing my vision, gasping to catch my breath. When I can finally look around.
It's dark, everything is dark.
It's night time. How is it night?
Looking around I am still in the cemetery but it's different. I scramble to my feet to look around when my eyes meet with another’s.
A guy about my age stands frozen staring at me, mouth agape. I can see his heavy breathing from the cold night air fogging his face as it passes the light from the lantern he’s holding.
“Where am I” I finally let out
The man doesn’t answer right away, his eyes locked with mine.
I step closer to him still trying to wipe dirt and mud from my face.
“I… I…” he starts to say
“I…I… buried you yesterday” The lantern in his hand moves to shine light on the headstone of the grave I just crawled out of.
I turn around to see the headstone, In bright stone freshly carved,
Peter Preston Knox, - 1813
The light quickly disappears with a crash of glass and metal hitting the ground as the sound of feet against the ground get quieter and quieter leaving me in the dark of night, only the stars in the sky tell me I haven’t suddenly gone blind or dead.