On the day of my father Warner Davis’s funeral, it rained heavily. With my mother already gone and distant relatives, I was left to handle the funeral arrangements alone. At the hospital, I watched as my father’s body was covered with a white cloth, then followed the funeral home staff as they transported his body from the hospital to the crematorium. Standing in front of my father’s memorial hall, I finally had a moment to catch my breath. Colleagues and friends attending the funeral asked:
