This box looks a lot like the one my sister-in-law rests in. The brown one, in front.
She looks a lot like the black sand gravel that people use in fish tanks when it is dry and gray.
I know this because after she died, I scooped up a little of her and put it into a little glass charm for my husband to wear around his neck.
And he did. For a little while.
I touched the ashes. And it didn’t wig me out. It was just ash.
This post at A child was born got me thinking about my sister in law again.
The question is if she had been able to see a future that was pretty good, pretty happy, often wonderful, but sometimes sad – would she have stayed? Would she have stuck around?
We’ll never know the answer.
The urn’s not talking.