I was thirteen years old when I went to my first funeral. My father’s youngest sister, Freda, died suddenly from an aneurysm at age 30. She was the cool aunt, rebellious and artistic, the family's black sheep. When we arrived at her viewing, I waited my turn to see her, not willing to look until we walked up to her body. My reaction was what you would expect: I burst into tears, overcome with the loss. My father pulled me into the hallway of the funeral home and leaned in, looked me directly in the eyes, and said, “You can’t cry. They need us. You have to be there for them.” The “they” was my family, my mother, sisters, aunts, and grandmother, widowed and already burying the second of her eight children.
Honest and heartfelt Scott. The dynamics between father and son are pivotal to the kind of men we become. Nicely done.
An incredible tribute, written with love. You have a gift. Love you Scott.
What a wonderful and truthful tribute to your father. Thank you for writing and sharing your father’s life with us.
Patty Price Miller
Oh Scott, you have brought tears to my eyes. I know he is proud of your tribute to him. I know you are proud of him for all his service to his community. Thinking of you and your family.
He knows, my dear friend. Reading these words I don’t get the sense he would have verbalized the knowledge ❤️ RIP
Scott, I'm so sorry for your loss. Like me, you grieve through your writing. Thoughts and prayers go with you. Trish