No family there. Only, scandalously, three female admirers. I bore a front pole, reviewing our years of preparing together for the next life.
Slipping on wet ground, I dropped my pole. His body slid into the hole, head first. Almost comical. Naturally, I didn't laugh.
Brother Mitchell looked reprovingly at me, as we covered Charles with dirt. But I'd done no intentional wrong. Did our Lord care by then about that poor body?
Charles’ spirit, of course, endures.
Pray for me.