On Wednesday, January 8, 2014, I buried a ninety-four-year-old man. He was from Canaan and he lived in the area for most of his life. He was a member of my church. He was a World War II veteran, having joined the Army. According to his daughter, he never once raised his voice to his children, though his wife often did. Perhaps he was just trying to balance our her voice. He had a nice smile and was just about deaf by the end of his life.
I think this was my ninth or tenth funeral, though the funeral home director thinks that I've done more.
According to his daughter, his great grandmother was Blackfoot Indian.
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