All of it

Wood 8A funeral home near St. Paul, MN, just east, in a small town over the Wisconsin border.  My friend, cremated, his remains in a two-toned wooden box, something that just as well could hold jewelry or collected stamps.  One of his sons–there are four children, the boys are in the middle, ages six and four–stops playing for a bit with the other children at the wake and goes to his mother, now widowed, and asks a question he’s asked before in the previous couple days since his father’s death.

“Where’s Dad?” continue reading…