Almost a year to the day after David Sandbeck lost his father to lymphoma, he suffered another heartbreak.

A box holding memorabilia from his father's life was ransacked during a string of burglaries at his St. Paul condo, and thieves made off with a leather-bound Bible and a small keepsake urn holding Lee Fredrick Hallgren's ashes.

A homeless man later admitted to the break-ins. When he was arrested, police found costume jewelry and other heirlooms in his possession, but no urn.

Sandbeck thought the urn was lost forever, maybe discarded in a landfill somewhere.

"It's irrational, but I just wanted a little something [to remember him by]," he said. "It bothered me that someone would take something with no value to them."

Eight months later and 2 miles away, Casie Lowen left for work Wednesday morning and found the urn on a ledge just outside her St. Paul apartment. It had been left there with the ashes still inside.

The lost urn.

With a bus to catch, Lowen gently placed the container in her purse, then began a quest to track down its owner on social media.

She posted a message on her neighborhood Facebook page, the Midway-Frogtown Exchange, under the title "Lost loved one." The listing showed the photo of the sealed urn, with the name "Lee Hallgren 1940-2014" engraved on the front. "Found on Lafond and Arundel," she wrote, asking for help in locating the family.

Dozens of her neighbors commented, exclaiming over the unusual discovery. How did it get there? they wondered. And how does one lose such a thing?

Some suggested that Lowen hand over the remains to local authorities. She'd considered that, she said, but worried that the urn would just sit in storage. "[Police] have bigger things to worry about," she said.

Early Thursday, a woman who remembered Hallgren from his time in hospice at the Southview Acres Health Care Center e-mailed Sandbeck's mother with a link to Wednesday's Star Tribune online article about Lowen's search for Hallgren's family.

Sandbeck quickly contacted Lowen, presented his father's death certificate and arranged to meet for the exchange Friday afternoon. "[She] recognized its intangible value," said Sandbeck, who said he can't wait to thank Lowen in person. "It has more value when you lose something and get it back."

But how did the urn come to be in Lowen's possession? The thief probably dumped it after realizing the vessel lacked monetary value, said St. Paul Sgt. Mike Ernster. "Oftentimes, [thieves] make 'mass grabs,' take what they can and sort it out later," he said.

Neighbors later told Lowen that they'd seen the urn lying on her lawn several days before, but were leery about touching it. Some may have walked past her door and thought it belonged to her, she said.

The urn was all Sandbeck had left of his father after scattering the majority of his ashes at Gooseberry Falls State Park, a frequent vacation spot as a child. He bought the tiny keepsake urn to keep the rest.

Imperfect but loved

Hallgren, while imperfect, was a role model for his son, Sandbeck said. As a recovering alcoholic, he bore many physical and emotional scars. But his experience kept Sandbeck away from the bottle.

Hallgren spent 25 years working manual labor at the Downtowner Car Wash, a job he hated but put up with to put food on the table, his son said.

"He did everything he could to be a provider and a father," Sandbeck said. "He wasn't spectacular, but he was special for that. He's someone who could have been more successful had he applied himself."

In the last few years of his life, Hallgren became more withdrawn, then ill. When he died, there was no obituary or funeral service — just a trip Up North with the people he loved most so they could spread his ashes.

That's why the urn was so special, Sandbeck said. This time, he said, he'll keep it close by, back in the childhood home where Hallgren raised him and where he again lives with relatives.

It's a little more scuffed than the last time Sandbeck saw it, but that simply means his father's adventure continued.

"It adds a little character to his urn that I think fits him," he said.

Liz Sawyer • 612-673-4648