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.
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.
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