As Darla pushed my wheelchair over to the grave after the casket had been lowered into place and I was supposed to throw or drop the first ceremonial ...lump or handful of dirt on the casket to send her spirit heavenward, I faked tears and infirmity. The few people there were touched and I gestured to my son Rad, short for Conrad, to assist me.Had I not been there, it would have been my son Michael's job as the first-born son to handle it. My asking Rad to do it was a sign to family members that. The boys were all sitting quietly try not to make any noise (setting my Dad off when he was upset was typically a suicidal act and we didn't know how many children he had before us, but the one's that were here first had been good enough to inform the one's that followed how to avoid terrible and certain death.) I walked over to my Dad. I asked him point blank..., "Daddy, are you OK?" He just put his head in his head in his hands and began to shake his head. I hugged him, he jerked slightly,. More

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