Man in the Box

OK… I know I’ve been accused of having a morbid sense of curiosity, and maybe it’s not right to talk about some things, but you know what? It’s my father. If it helps me grieve, then I can write whatever I want.

That being said, Dad’s “cremains” arrived today. That’s the funeral home guy’s word, not mine. I’m assuming it’s some clever combination of “remains” and “cremated.” How on earth does a six-foot big husky man like my father fit inside such a tiny box? I know we’re mostly water, but dang:

Miss you Dad.