For some unknown reason, the other day, I began adding up the number of funerals I’ve attended since moving to the South. I stopped at eight since I quickly realized what a morbid, mental exercise I was undertaking.

Tallying funerals wasn’t what got me thinking in the first place, anyway. It was the fact that funerals are such a common occurrence for me and Ronda; so much so that, early in our marriage, she cautioned me always to have a dark suit “ready” at all times.

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