Dad, Delivered

I knew what it was the moment I opened the door to the mailman.  I had worried for several days that his ashes were lost.  My sister, who had taken on the task of sending them to me, had even sent a message asking if I’d received the package.   At the time the answer was, no.  A day later he arrived.

“It looks like someone sent you something special today. Are you Barbara?” the letter carrier asked glancing at the package still lin his hands.
“It’s my father,” I answered, icy cold dread engulfing me as I noted how light the box was.

 “He must love you a lot to spend over $25.00 to mail a package.  I can’t believe the Post Office claims to be in trouble when they charge so much to send a small package like this.”

“He did,” is all I could say.

“Well then, have a good day,” he responded turning to leave.  ”

You too,” I answered automatically as I closed the door.

Stunned I froze in place. How could I be holding Dad in my hands.?  In this box? A box I certainly never wanted to possess. A  box I will take to Ireland one day to lay him to rest in the Old Country he dreamed about.  I know it’s what he wanted and I will carry out his wishes as best I can but what on earth do I do now that he is really gone, yet recently delivered, unreachable as I hold him in my hands. What do I do now?

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