A widow, her son and her daughter were driving to the mountains to scatter Dad's ashes. Mom held the package on her lap and wept.
"Poor dad, I wish he could have seen grandchildren," she said.
"Poor dad, he wanted to take me to Paris."
"Poor dad, he never got to write that novel."
They walked a short ways to a secluded clearing. Mom handed the package to the son and said, "Pour Dad."