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Some would
say those ashes are not him, but of course they are, or else it
wouldn't matter where they ended up; the cemetery, with its expanse
of grass and quiet trees would not be there, this awkward ceremony would
not have taken place. What we carry in our hearts is us, not him; what's
left of him is in that box, the rest went up some chimney miles away.
When I gave it to the digger, when he dropped it gently into the earth,
when I walked away to the car, I knew I was leaving him alone. |
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^^^ |
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