that pig roast kind of smell

Sept 22st 2003.

I was 15, a sophomore in high school, walking home from the bus stop after school. Halfway down the street I noticed both of my parents car in the driveway. My mom worked till 4-5 so to see her car at 2:30 was strange. I walked up the driveway and saw my parents just sitting on the couch together, they both looked extremely upset. I walked in the door, and my stomach just sank as I saw that both my parents were crying.

My dad never cries.

My mom immediately asked me to come have a seat on the couch and I just thought to myself, "oh my gosh, grandpa died."

My mom quickly explained as she was holding back tears that my cousin, Kurt, had died in a motorcycle accident the day before.

As I later found posted in the newspaper, Kurt, lost his life in a motorcycle accident just north of Sandy Creek on September 21, 2003. He was found by a passing motorist about 11:30 p.m. Sunday.

He was riding alone, and so no one really knows what happened. He was thrown from his bike. 

After my parents told me what happened, I barely cried. I just sat there, then I got up, went to my room and started my homework.

Kurt was 33. When my dad was growing up, he lived with his sister after his mom died. His sister had two kids, Kurt and Todd. My dad being just about 11 years older than them treated them more like brothers than a uncle.

Kurt would come pick me up and I would go on random errands with him, and he and I got along very well. He was more like a older brother than just a cousin to me. 

I remember the next day at school I was standing at my locker, and my best friend had walked up to me and all I said was "my cousin Kurt is dead." I grabbed my books for math class and walked into class. I never said anything else about it. 

Everyone gathered at my house before the funeral. My brother and I did not go. I choose not to go. I wish some one had made me go.

One of my last memories of him, is when he and my dad were working on this old pig roaster in our garage. You could just smell the pig and the grease and it was this smell I will never forget.

Last June, I rode my motorcycle up to the cemetery that he is buried at. I parked my bike and decided that I would find his grave. I searched and searched, but no one in my family wanted to talk about where it was. My dad finally said that it was diagonal from his grandparents grave. I found that grave but I could not find his. 

The groundskeeper was mowing the lawn. He watched me walked back and forth through each row and isle. After a while of searching, he stopped his mower and asked if I needed help. He explained that he could find anyone here...so I started to say the name and I got to Kurt and he says he knows exactly who I am looking for. He tried to give me directions to it, but I looked hopeless I guess because he just smiled and said, "I'll walk you to it..."

As we walked he told me about everyone who comes to visit it, about how he has meet so many people that stop by...

It was weird how peaceful it was when I was there, as I laid on the grass and stared at the bright blue sky and finally said goodbye.

Its funny how old feelings just rush back to you some days...I was in the garage talking to my dad, looking at the motorcycle that my cousin crashed on, and all I could smell was pork, that pork and greasy pig roast smell...funny how I have learned to love that smell.