By Ross Engel –
My wife walked slowly up the aisle of the church; she was dressed in black, my seven-month-old son James on her hip and my three-year -old daughter excitedly holding her hand. The eyes of all those gathered watched her as they came forward. There was a slight gasp from the front row as she picked up our three-year-old and leaned over the casket so that Eliana could get a better look at “Mr. Art.” After a few sweet words, they took their place, sitting with the rest of the congregation, and awaiting the beginning of the funeral service.
