Today was a day that I can describe only as ‘surreal’; a word also independently chosen by my mother. Today I took receipt of a small, dark red, brick–like box. It weighs about nine lbs. It is the ashes of my dad, who was cremated a few days ago. It is inconceivable that all he was has been reduced to a little box that I can hold easily on the palm of one hand.
I have placed him on a shelf in his study—the room in which he spent so many hours on weekends and evenings, writing and reading, when not traveling overseas.
At last he is home for good.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
Brian,
I'm sure we never met, and frankly, I did not know your father that well. I was not his student nor did I work with him on any research. We interacted at conferences, and I have an especially warm memory of conversing with him at the Desmond Clark 70th birthday conference in Berkeley. His work with the Leakey Foundation helped a lot of beginning researchers, including myself. Your father was also a genuinely nice guy, something of a rarity in academics, I'm afraid.
Post a Comment