Wilfred, my father

My father, Wilfred, died in March 2017 from a bone marrow cancer. He was in an induced coma for two weeks before his death, and during that time - probably to make me feel better - I photographed objects that belonged to him; objects that illustrated his life influences and made him the man he was - a soldier, an artist, a reader, an historian, and all of it with a sense of fun. The penultimate image is the last photograph I took of my father. The default plastic urn from the crematorium is not an attractive object, but even he would have appreciated its practical nature. His ashes were scattered early in the summer, but the empty urn is still in the trunk of my car. I do not want to dispose of it, but at the same time I am reluctant to bring it into the house.