Recently I was asked by a funeral director to play at a graveside service for a homeless man. He had no family or friends, so the service was to be at a paupers cemetery in the Nova Scotia back country. As I was not familiar with the backwoods, I got lost and, being a typical man, I didnt stop for directions.
I finally arrived an hour late and saw the funeral guy had evidently gone and the hearse was nowhere in sight. There were only the diggers and crew left and they were eating lunch. I felt badly and apologized to the men for being late. I went to the side of the grave and looked down and the vault lid was already in place. I didnt know what else to do, so I started to play.
The workers put down their lunches and began to gather around. I played out my heart and soul for this man with no family and friends. I played like I have never played before for this homeless man. And as I played, the workers began to weep.
When I finished, I packed up my bagpipes and started for my car. Though my head was hung low, my heart was full. As I opened the door to my car, I heard one of the workers say,
I never seen anything like that before, and I have been putting in septic tanks for twenty years.
