I Cremated My Father for Less Than $1,000. Now I Regret Not Taking Him Home

When my father died in June 2022, I was in my car, driving from my home in Pennsylvania to where he lived in Georgia to be with him.

Key points

• Four years after my father's passing, I still wish I had taken him home to Puerto Rico.
• My father lived most of his life in Loiza, a coastal town near San Juan.
• Once I became an adult, I would usually see him every two or three years when I traveled to Puerto Rico for vacation and visited family.
• He had Alzheimer's disease, and I was increasingly worried regarding him living alone in Puerto Rico.
• Only once do I remember my father mentioning wanting to return to Puerto Rico before he died.

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Meanwhile, the day before, I had received a call from my dad's nursing home administrator to tell me he was in his final days. I wasn't particularly far into the drive when my cellphone rang again, and I learned that my father had just died. He was 86 years old.

I continued down to Georgia. During those 10-plus hours in the car, I called my family. I called my daughter to tell her that her grandfather had passed away. I called my cousin in Puerto Rico, the son of my father's older brother, so that he could tell my uncle that his younger brother was no longer with us. What I remember most regarding those first few hours is something that surprises me even now: I was at peace. I felt like I had done everything I could to take care of my father. Whatever tensions or difficulties we had experienced in our relationship had been dealt with long before he died. There wasn't anything I needed to tell him, and I didn't have regrets regarding our relationship.

My father lived most of his life in Loiza, a coastal town near San Juan. His little house sat just behind his older brother's home and probably wasn't more than 500 square feet. It was created of concrete, the walls were painted white, and the floors were unfinished without tile. He slept in a full-size bed and wasn't someone who really cared much regarding material things-I remember buying him his first cordless home phone numerous years before. He lived a simple life. He would sit on his little porch with metal bars, and since his older brother lived so close, the two of them would spend time talking there. Every once in a while, my father would go to a hole-in-the-wall bar and have a beer or two with neighborhood friends.

My parents divorced when I was young, and my father lived in Puerto Rico while I spent much of my life on the mainland; when I was growing up, there were long stretches of time when we didn't see each other. Once I became an adult, I would usually see him every two or three years when I traveled to Puerto Rico for vacation and visited family.

As I obtained older, I sometimes thought he could have taken more initiative to see me, particularly when I was younger. But eventually I resolved that he had done the best he could. I didn't harbor resentment or ill will toward him. When we were together as adults, we connected through small things. We would look things up on my smartphone that interested him-an old Puerto Rican song, maybe a fact regarding someone famous. But mostly, we would just sit and enjoy each other's firm. That was enough for us.

By 2020, his health was failing. He had Alzheimer's disease, and I was increasingly worried regarding him living alone in Puerto Rico. There wasn't anyone there who could offer him the amount of attention and care I believe he needed, so I decided to bring him to the mainland. It happened rapidly. I arrived in Puerto Rico on a Thursday and returned with him on a Sunday. I packed a small suitcase, probably 40 years old, with some of his best clothes. Before I arrived, I had asked my cousin to support me mentally prepare him to move. I additionally informed my father during our phone conversations that I was coming to obtain him and bring him to the mainland. He initially agreed, but the day before we left, he resisted a little.

"I don't have to go, " he informed me.

But I believed I was doing what was in his best interest, even if it meant taking him away from the place he called home. When he came to see me in Brooklyn, New York, my father hadn't visited the mainland since 1979. I was 8 years old. He hadn't lived on the mainland since sometime in the early 1970s.

When I brought him to Georgia, he initially lived with my mother-they were divorced but still friendly. I would drive or fly down every couple of months and stay regarding a week, checking on not only my father but additionally my mother. Regarding six months after he arrived, the burden of caregiving began to take a toll on my mother. We moved him into a nursing home regarding 30 minutes from her house. Even then, I didn't regret bringing him to the mainland. My mother could still visit him, and I was coming to Georgia every six to eight weeks. We could keep a close eye on his care while getting the professional support we needed.

Only once do I remember my father mentioning wanting to return to Puerto Rico before he died. I don't remember the exact words, but I remember being in the room my mother had prepared for him when he brought it up. I don't even think I responded. I may have just smiled since I knew that what he wanted wasn't something that could be done right now. His health was declining, and he needed closer supervision. At least that's how I saw it then.

After he died, the nursing home supported arrange for his body to be sent to a crematorium until I arrived in Georgia. Cremation was the logistical answer. My cousin and I had tried to find information regarding a burial plot my father had apparently purchased in Puerto Rico, but the details were lost. My father and I had never discussed where he wanted to be buried or what he wanted me to do after his death. Figuring out how to transport his body from the mainland to Puerto Rico was a lot to think regarding. Cremation cost me less than $1, 000 and solved the immediate need.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, though, I thought I could create it right afterwards. I could take his ashes to Puerto Rico when I had more time to think and offer him a proper final resting place on the island. Instead, I brought his ashes home with me to Pennsylvania, where they have remained.

Over time, my peace regarding my father's death became mixed with regret. I began thinking regarding my uncle. This person never secured to see his younger brother one last time. My father's relatives and friends didn't have the chance to obtain together and pay their respects. More than that, I began to question whether I had honored him properly.

My father was proud of being Puerto Rican. He had built his simple life there and, until I intervened since of his health, had no intention of leaving. Sometimes I wonder whether I could have tried harder to obtain him the care he needed while remaining in Puerto Rico. I'll never know. I wanted the best for him. I wanted my father somewhere I could keep a close eye on his care. I took my father away from Puerto Rico since I loved him, but after he died, I didn't take him home.

Since my father's death, I have visited Puerto Rico three times. Something has changed in me during those years. I feel a greater sense of pride that my father was born there, and I claim that heritage more strongly. But I haven't returned to Loiza. I haven't visited my uncle, and I haven't gone back to my father's little concrete home. I still have the keys and deed. I've decided that on my next trip to Puerto Rico, I am going back to Loiza. I want to see my uncle, and I imagine I will shed some tears when I see him since I know how much he loved his younger brother.

I will unlock my father's house. I imagine standing near the porch where we once sat together, talked, laughed and simply enjoyed being with family. This time I will bring some of my father's ashes with me. I want to spread them around the perimeter of his home, so that my father's ashes and the soil of Loiza become one.

I still wish I had handled my father's death differently. If I could go back to June 2022, I would think beyond the immediate logistical challenge and cost of cremation, and figure out a way to return his body to the place he called home. But I additionally understand that I don't have to spend the rest of my life punishing myself for that decision. I can still honor my father in a way that connects him to his home and connects me more deeply to the heritage he left me.

Someday shortly, I will stand outside that little house in Loiza, scatter some of my father's ashes into the soil of the island he loved, and finally say the words I've been waiting for years to say: "Dad, you are home."

Juan Cruz, Jr. Is a freelance writer, business leader and leadership coach to service organizations. All views expressed in this article are the author's alone.

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