His ashes are heavier than I had expected. It is almost a relief. It seems to me that a person's ashes should be heavy. They should say, "Hey! I was a person. A living thing. No matter that now I'm in a shitty cardboard box and people are going to fight over me-where should I go? Who should be there when I'm scattered?"

 They are ashes that went to a war. Ashes that had a kid, liked to fish, worked on helicoptors. Ashes that drank some weird alcohol in Korea that turned your pee orange. Ashes that were sarcastic and loyal. Ashes that shouldn't have been ashes for a long time.

 They aren't fine. Not like fireplace ashes. Nearly like gravel. Or the sand back home.

 Fifty-five years in a little box. But at least it is a heavy box.