I promised myself that I wouldn't post in this thread, but your post has compelled me to share the story of my personal Hero's passing and the compassion of a country funeral director in my home community.
My grandfather died in 1982, having lived his life as an illiterate dirt farmer who was the smartest man I ever knew. He was well known in our country community for the size and quality of the vegatable garden he planted, just to keep busy, in his retirement years. It was also well known that anything in this garden was free to all for the picking and at one time or another over the years, most had been there to get a "mess" of tomatoes, corn, beans, or whatever was ready.
By 1982, I was grown and out attacking the world on my own, usually getting home once or twice a month. I didn't know that the local funeral director had been coming by the garden and had developed a deep friendship with my grandfather until he was gone.
When I went to the casket for my last time, I noticed a small glass vial with a ribbon around the top in his hands. When the funeral director saw the puzzlement on my face, he came to the casket and put his arm around my shoulders and told me about his time with my grandfather.
In the vial was dirt from my grandfather's garden that this man had taken on himself to go and get from our farm the night before.
I know your feeling of comfort very well, my friend.