“On a cold April night three years ago, my father died a quiet death from cancer. His funeral was on a Wednesday, middle of the workweek. I had been numb for days when, for some reason, during the funeral, I turned and looked back at the folks in the church. The memory of it still takes my breath away. The most human, powerful and humbling thing I've ever seen was a church at 3:00 on a Wednesday full of inconvenienced people who believe in going to the funeral.” DeathHumanCancerFuneralDeath And Dying Book:Always Go to the Funeral: A 'This I Believe' Essay Source: Always Go to the Funeral: A 'This I Believe' Essay