ashes

the last time i ever saw my dad he was in a little box, covered in black velvet. all that was left of him was four handfuls of ashes. my mom and i escorted him down to his favorite river bank and helped him out of his box. we laid him afloat on the water and watched him head downstream.

how could he burn down to only being four handfuls big? i don't know, but i've never liked it. he was so much more to me.

so much more than four handfuls of dad. but that's all that was left. four handfuls of ash and a few bigger knobs of bone left. no bright blue eyes, or sandy brown hair. no freckles and the nose identical to mine. no chest to hug, no feet to follow...just some ashes.

of course i know that that's all we end up being. that when we die there's nothing left. but the impact he made on our lives. how tall he stood when he was here. his big comforting smile. it all becomes nothing.

i don't know how to explain it.
how can i justify my irrational awe?

i miss him.

all i have is a wallet and some pens that were in his pockets and a big coat that doesn't smell like him anymore. they took everything else. i, his only child, wasn't even entitled to a tee-shirt... or pictures. or anything. just what the hospital had.

i can't even find an obituary. it's like he never actually existed. not in life and not in death.
he doesn't have a headstone.
no grave.

i don't wake up everyday and see the home we lived in.
there's a small collection of photos, that i never get to see.

no dog of his.
no friends.
i don't even really know his family.

in fact, i'm not even 100% sure of how he died.