Daddy Issues

So my dad died a million years ago. I barely remember him. Mostly it was just me and mom and the smithy in the yard.

But my mom kept his ashes in this Waterford crystal urn on the dining room table, which is freaking morbid, if you ask me, because, you know, you can see through crystal, and people-ashes aren’t like fireplace ashes, there’s chunks of bone and crap in there too. So I got to look at my dad’s grey matter for years while I ate my green beans. What. the. fuck.

Yesterday my mom calls me up and drags my ass down to the flats and fucking full-on dumps the crystal into the river. We both just stand there for awhile, watching him float away.

After awhile I say: why did I have to be there for this?

And she says: you want something for lunch?

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