Getting up very early in the morning tomorrow to go to my father’s cremation. This sounds so strange even as I write it. Perhaps I should say that we (my brother and I) are getting up very early to go to the cremation of my father’s body, corpse, remains. (Though it is hard not to think of what is left as my father, since it is the only physical bit still present.)
Going to an event like this may sound ghoulish or unnecessary. (We have already had a very lovely funeral.) And yet it feels important to me to do it; one last chance to do one more/last thing for and with my father, even if it’s only seeing a longish sort of box, maybe putting a hand on a corner of it, or a corrugated side.
ManicDDaily 
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