At my father’s funeral on a rainy day twelve years ago, the church was nearly empty and only two people cried.
My mom and I cried, and everyone else present stood dry-eyed, unperturbed, that a man who had lived 42 years on this Earth would be buried under mud.
But I don’t blame them. I know why they didn’t cry.
My dad was a man of integrity. But when he died in an accident, he was a shadow of his former self.