One day your dad carries you, another, you carry your dad.
Everything comes and goes. This is not a tribute to my father. I spent the past week doing that. This is a tribute to surreal moments.
Oozing with past, present, memory and emotion, surreal moments do not fit in the normal container of perception. They leak all over. In tears. In laughter. In realization. In perspective.
Tasked with the errand, you enter the funeral home alone. You state your father's name. Float toward the canvas bag on the counter. A coiffed woman lists the contents.
Death certificate. U.S. Flag. Cremation receipt. Urn.
You sign a form. Matter-of-fact transaction. Faster than McDonald's without the hassle of getting somebody else's order.
You carry 87 years of experience to the car. Dad rides shotgun. An avid hunter, he'd smile at that.
Then you remember a poignant scene from the movie "Elizabethtown."
And fasten the seat belt around that bag of Dad in the passenger seat. And snap a photo. And zap it to your wife who couldn't travel due to a broken leg.
"Drew Baylor Moment."
Immediate response. "Ohhhhhhh Mike."
She gets it. Shared emotion and surrealism.
You're no longer alone.
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