All of us have our ways of dealing with life when life doesn't go the way we want it to or when the unexpected comes at us like a hurricane. My father chose humor as his way of dealing. I'm not even sure he knew he did that but looking back, I'm certain that's why he'd do his "Tricky Dick" imitation-and joke with my mother who hardly ever thought he was funny-but we did! My father was a dedicated funeral director. His profession was his passion. The families he served became his families. The care and concern he expressed was genuine. When the phone rang and he was needed, my father was there in an instant. He also loved his hometown. He knew every street-every family and where they lived and who married who and when someone had died right down to the date and where they were buried. It wasn't gossip when he'd go on about a family. It was because he looked upon those families as an extended family of his own.
Perhaps one of the hardest things my father had to do when called upon in his role as funeral director was to tend to patients who passed away at a nearby psychiatric center. His compassion would be on overload for normally there'd be no family involved. He'd be quiet for awhile after their burial-their place in the cemetery marked not by name but by their patient number. That to me is dedication-compassion for human beings most turn their backs on.