Red's Wrap

“I don’t want to go all the way to Chicago with your dad in a box on my lap.”

“Where am I supposed to put him? If I put him in the trunk, the box could tip over. Just hold him, it’s not that big a deal.”

It’s a big deal. Maybe I should drive and my husband can hold his father on his own lap. But he wants to drive. It’s what will make it feel right, being in control of the car, of himself. I feel the weight of my father-in-law’s ashes on my legs, the cardboard box too flimsy for its job, if I lifted the lid, I’d see the heavy plastic folded over the gray dust. It feels too familiar, too familial. How well did I even know him? How would he feel about me holding his ashes? Be careful where you put your hands, I…

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