We Buried Him Twice

[Verse 1 — deep male baritone; low acoustic guitar, steady and restrained] The first time there was no black suit, No preacher speaking from the Book. No flowers dying by a stone, Just Dad saying, "Don't come home." Mom boxed his pictures late that week, Then cried where Dad could never see. His bedroom slowly lost his name, But nobody called it a grave. We learned to speak of him as past While somewhere he was breathing still. A living brother disappeared— And absence learned to feel like death. [Chorus — clean vocal; broad but mournful] We buried him twice before we knew How deep a living grave could go. Once when we said, "We're done with you," Once when they finally laid him low. The first time anger dug the ground, The second time we gathered 'round. Two different graves, the same goodbye— God help us. We buried him twice. [Bridge — unusually early; acoustic guitar drops to fingerpicking] He called one Christmas after dark. Mom saw his number, missed her heart. Dad said, "If you pick up that phone, He'll think he's welcome coming home." It rang until the ringing quit. Nobody moved or mentioned it. Mom saved the message seven years. Never played it. Never cleared it. [Verse 2 — longer; percussion enters gradually, cadence tightening] The sheriff called on Monday noon. Said they had found him in a room. A county north, a motel bed, Thirty-eight years old and dead. At visitation, strangers came. People who knew his middle name. A woman cried against his chest, Said, "He was trying. He did his best." She knew the job he'd worked downtown. She knew he'd gotten sober twice. Knew he kept peppermints around And couldn't sleep without a light. His foreman said he loved to fish. Some guy named Mark called him his best friend. I stood beside my brother's coffin Meeting who he'd been. We'd made him nothing but his worst: The stolen cash, the screaming words. The broken doors, the nights he'd lied, The reasons we had cut the ties. But while we froze him at his worst, He kept becoming someone first. A whole damn life beyond our sight— We'd buried him while he was alive. [Instrumental — acoustic guitars build into an uneven low-string pattern; no vocals] [Chorus — altered lyrics; heavier delivery] We buried him twice, and this time knew The man inside that grave had grown. Once when we said, "We're done with you," Once when we carried his body home. The first time anger made him dead. The second put dirt above his head. And neither grave could tell us why We needed him gone before he died. [Verse 3 — music strips nearly bare] Afterward, Mom played that call. His voice came thin through kitchen walls: "Hey, Mama, it's me. I'm doing okay. I know you probably need your space. I just wanted you to know I'm clean. Six months tomorrow, if that means anything. Tell Dad I love him. Love you too." The message ended. Nobody moved. Dad stared down at both his shoes. Mom played it once, then once again. Seven years too late to answer him. [Final Verse — unaccompanied at first; instruments enter only beneath final four lines] We drove home with his ashes packed Between my mother and my dad. The same three people who'd agreed That losing him was what we'd need. Nobody said that choice was wrong. Nobody said that choice was right. We'd spent years learning how to live without him— Now we'd do it for the rest of our lives. [Outro — instrumental only; opening acoustic progression returns and ends unresolved]