Pretty, isn’t it? Beautiful even. The knots in the wood catch your eye as they swirl. The red of whatever wood it is is dark and deep. Almost the color of drying blood.
Yesterday I picked up Willow’s ashes. I didn’t want an urn. Really I just wanted the remains put into a plastic baggie so that I can easily spread them.
This is what they came in instead.
The weight of the box is surprising. Less so when you realize the remains of a 55-pound dog reside there.
I read that an urn or other housing for cremated remains must accommodate 1 cubic inch per pound of the individual. Apparently this box is 55 cubic inches.
I could measure it, but I’m not feeling that nerdy…
When my dad died I had the same basic response: How does some thing so big fit in something so small? Fifty-three years in the case of my dad, 12 in the case of Willow, all squished into a jar or a box. When you open it up, there’s nothing to remind you of the person they were. Just the finest white-grey chalk, which it is chemically speaking.
I’ve mostly kept the box in the bag they sent me out with. A bag with the name of the company on the front. It’s a smallish tote, similar to the shopping bags most people have nowadays.
I don’t think I’ll be using that particular bag to do my grocery shopping…
I’ve been avoiding eye contact with the bag. Now that I’ve removed the box from the bag, I’m still avoiding eye contact.
It’s the elephant in the room right now.
But I’m starting to sneak peeks. My mind is getting used to the idea of that last goodbye. It’s getting used to the idea of that empty box.
I will spread Willow’s ashes, but not today.
Not yet.
