The Little Griefs When Someone Dies

Grief doesn’t end with the burial.

The first time I saw his urn was “the big grief.”

It was the first moment my 20-year-old brain fully grasped that yes, my dad is in that $10 Hobby Lobby vase.

And no, he isn’t coming back.

I guess up until then I had the weird, if necessary, delusion that this was some…