Daddy always wanted to write his own book, but never got around to it. From a scattering of memoirs, he “During my experience in the funeral business, every time I would lift a body off the white porcelain embalming table, I would see the outline of that body’s stain remaining there. But that outline is not what this book is about. To the contrary, I have already been in a casket and the next time people think I am there, I really won’t be. That is what this book is really about.”
Daddy was a funeral director, Santa Claus, and a devout Evangelical…and I am Danny, his son. We stuck together like magnets. Yet, I was worried because the same force that attracts could repel. The stronger the love, the stronger the fear that someday the magnets would turn, and I would no longer be able to hold Daddy’s hand.
Danny, being Daddy’s little tagalong, would take it all in, and now at 70 years of age I have attempted to sort out what has been imprinted on me. Daddy, hold my hand. Show me the way to go home.