He was a short, vile man. Unable to fight in World War two, he heaped abuse on his family the rest of his life. A stepson was beaten and his daughter and granddaughter suffered sexual abuse.
His wife, an arranged marriage, was expected to take care of his every need. She committed suicide, or was murdered by him, at 62. Her death led to his end some 10 years later.
Once she died, he remarried quickly. Then came divorce, a string of younger girlfriends and a move to Florida. This was where he died of a heart attack, on a hot afternoon, moving a recent girlfriend in with him. Dead as a doornail!
His son, the only one he doted on, had him cremated and begin the journey to to bury him in St. Louis. All was well until a truck, filled with chickens (the man loved his fried chicken), pulled out in front of him somewhere in Tennessee. Dad went flying, popped open and landed on the floor amongst fossilized fries, bits on old hamburgers and sand.
What was his son to do? He ran into Walmart and bought a dust buster and sucked dad up. And that is how a hateful, little man ended up buried in a dust buster somewhere in St. Louis.
Joyful Healing, Dogs and Quilts 