With every birthday I collect, I gain something more valuable than presents — perspective. One of my genuine superpowers is problem, AKA puzzle-solving. When adversity hits, I don’t panic. I rate it. Was this expected, or did it come out of nowhere? Then I get to work. Solving problems is like a puzzle to me — I enjoy it deeply, and I learn something from every one. MacGyver has an understudy.

It All Began With a Friendly Phone Call

Loaded and ready to go

A friend and former Sunday School teacher of my children called to ask if I would build her a Kosher casket. Breast cancer had been taking her down for six years, and she was ready. She was a remarkable person, and I said yes without hesitation. I was honored to be asked, and I donated it freely.

A Kosher casket uses no metal connectors. I use a special natural hide glue that requires a long curing time. She reassured me there was no rush — “I’ve got six months easy, Joe.” She had stopped eating and drinking, declined further medical intervention, and her doctors had exhausted every option. Still, as a former paramedic who understands the fragility of life, I didn’t waste a moment. Ron Dunagan and I went to work building it.

Her family and friends kept me updated with calls and texts. I kept them calm. I told them the casket would be ready. It was a promise I intended to keep.

She passed on a Saturday. The funeral was midday Sunday. We finished the final hand-hold ropes and a last sanding that morning, blew the wood dust off, and delivered it to the funeral home on the bed of my truck. She was placed in it within the hour.

The Longest 25 Yards of My Life

After the indoor service, I walked with friends to the cemetery across the street and watched the hearse pull up about 25 yards from the burial site. Then it hit me — six of her closest friends and family would carry the casket that distance by hand. Somehow, in all my planning, I had never calculated for that moment. The bottom was held by hide glue and wood biscuits. Nothing more.

Oh Lord, I thought. Please don’t let the bottom fall out.

The procession moved with agonizing slowness behind the Rabbi, prayers rising with every step. Time stopped for me entirely. I stood there cycling through pride, horror, and desperate hope — sometimes all three at once. When they finally set her down safely, I exhaled a breath I felt like I’d been holding for days.

It held. Of course it held. We made it.

Belt and Suspenders

Back in my shop the next day, I revisited my process with fresh eyes. The glue and biscuit system wasn’t wrong — it worked. But it wasn’t enough, and I had gotten lucky. From now on, any casket I build will have a far more robust carrying system. Full stop.

That’s the thing about near-misses. They’re gifts, if you’re willing to receive them. The worst didn’t happen — but it could have, and now I know exactly what to do differently. That’s how the toolbox grows. Not from the clean wins, but from the moments that make you hold your breath and pray.  As a teacher herself, this was her final lesson, I am smiling back at her, wiser than before,

Trust the process. Then make it better.

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