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There's a body below me. And no, I didn't kill him, though I felt like I did. Good hook; doesn't feel like you're trying to hook me even though you are. The fact that you use 'no' indicates a conversational feel, always good to make a instant connection with the reader quick. (y)
Some of the dirt started to fall from between my fingers and onto my $700 designer Mezlans. I didn't care though. A few months ago, I'd probably would've decided to throw such an inexpensive pair away for so much as a spec. But, something in the back of my neck told me to do something special today. Looks like we have a materialistic ****. Awesome.
Something special often revolved around picking up an 'escort' or dropping a few grand on a new luxury Lexus. Something special often meant going out and completely obliterating myself on ancient, Chteau Margaux wine with a woman who didn't love me. Prose has continued well in this second paragraph, if you are to repeat a word, special feels seedy to me. Is that the intention?
But as a mound of dirt started to pile up on my foot, I finally got the good mind to throw the clump of Earth in my hand. The wind blew most of it away, letting the dirt drift uselessly in the wind. This must be the final '**** you' from father. Mustering all his ghostly powers to reject me, to say that, No, I don't accept your apalogy. Thanks for coming, but you're just a dead man too late. You seem to use a lot of blunt words here. 'mound', 'pile' 'clump' 'drift' 'mustering' I know they're all relevant and appropriate, and yes you've accomplished a level of competence, but if you want to take your prose up a notch, strive for the words that stretch it further. Dynamic. Vivid. Sharp words.
"Rest in peace, Dad," I said to the shoddy wooden coffin 6 feet below me. The grave digger leaning on his shovel beside me, my only witness, groaned.
"You done, sir?" but before I could respond he had already started to shovel dirt onto the grave.
I watched him for a moment. Where had he gotten his pants? Wal-mart? Look at that morning shadow and unruly hair! I understand what you're doing with the character, but the way you've worded it comes off as corny. Throw $15 away and go to Super-cuts at least. How much money was he getting paid for doing this? $10, maybe $15 dollars? I get paid the same amount for just standing here. This guy pissed me off. He was rude and poor, something ugly straight from the bottom of the pit hole.
But what bothered me the most, more than his acne scars and his nose hair, was that he was given the privilege. He was the last person to say goodbye to him. The last person to finally shut the door on his life and bury him into the Earth. My father didn't deserve this man, and this man didn't deserve to finally extinguish my father's connection to the world.
But as he worked, letting his sweat pour into his grave, he dropped more than few sorry specs of dirt onto my father's coffin.
The gravedigger stopped working, finally aware that he had an audience.
"**** man, I'm trying to work here. It's bad enough I gotta work in a grave yard. Don't need no spooky relatives trying to pry with me their eyes."
Who gave this man the privilege?
"Do you have another shovel?"
"It's back at the shed, but damn, you sure you want to ruin that spiffy suit of yours?"
"Wears the shed?"
He pointed out into the distance and I set off.
As soon as I returned the grave digger looked up at me.
"Christ, you're not kidding," and he went back to work.
Wordlessly, I started shoveling.
"Where's everyone else?" he asked.
Of all my siblings, I was the only one who bothered to show up.
"Gone."
He didn't say anything after that.
