His ashes were about 8lbs. A little heavier than when he was born. As I left the cremation service with his sandy bits on the seat beside me, my rental Camry warned me that the airbag was disabled, even though it appeared someone was in the passenger seat.
All of him fit into a small shipping box. I checked him out. White and calcified. Dusty.
Was it even him? I realized what many bereaved probably did: I couldn't give a shit if it was him in there ... or the ashy bits from last night's charcoal grill.
It's all in the symbolism.
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