Three point eight ounces, that’s all I have left of my daughter.

All my hopes and dreams, the sum potential of a human life, reduced to a minuscule container of ash. But even that’s not true, we call them ashes but they’re not, not really. When a body is cremated, after it’s passed through a 2,000 degree fire, all that’s left behind are bone fragments which are crushed into a fine sand. We don’t have ashes sitting in the urns on our mantles. We don’t scatter ashes into the wind or sp. . .

Three point eight ounces, that’s all I have left of my daughter.

All my hopes and dreams, the sum potential of a human life, reduced to a minuscule container of ash. But even that’s not true, we call them ashes but they’re not, not really. When a body is cremated, after it’s passed through a 2,000 degree fire, all that’s left behind are bone fragments which are crushed into a fine sand. We don’t have ashes sitting in the urns on our mantles. We don’t scatter ashes into the wind or sp. . .