02/13/2026
“Serving Through the Storm”
When Hurricane Katrina devastated Louisiana, families were displaced, overwhelmed, and grieving. During that time, our funeral home began receiving call after call from those who had lost so much.
One family entrusted us with their loved one, and due to the circumstances surrounding the storm, we cared for him for several months before services could be held. When the day of visitation finally arrived, the family stood in shock — not because of devastation, but because their loved one looked peaceful. After everything they had endured, they were expecting the worst. Being able to give them comfort in that moment reminded us why we do what we do.
Shortly after Katrina, another hurricane threatened Houston. The entire city evacuated. I had never witnessed anything like it — within days, Houston became a ghost town. No gas. No food. No electricity. Streets empty. Businesses closed. Complete uncertainty.
My family and I gathered at the funeral home and prepared to ride out whatever was coming. We prayed. We trusted. By God’s grace, the storm shifted, and Houston was spared.
During that uncertain time, I received a call from a family we had previously served. They were desperate. Friends of theirs had evacuated to Dallas to avoid the storm. While loading their children into their vehicle outside a restaurant, tragedy struck. In a split second, a four-year-old boy ran into the parking lot and was accidentally struck by a vehicle.
It was a devastating accident. The father became physically ill from shock. The mother collapsed. Even the driver was overcome with grief.
The family told me funeral homes in Dallas were overwhelmed and were saying it would be weeks before they could help. I explained our situation in Houston — no fuel anywhere, no power, and very limited resources. I only had three-quarters of a tank of gas. But I told them if they wanted me to try, I would do everything in my power. No guarantees — just faith.
They asked me to please go.
Within the hour, my wife and I prepared to leave. We loaded extra gas cans into our vehicle and stopped by a relative’s home to borrow another container. The city was dark — no streetlights, no traffic signals, nothing.
As I reached the end of a one-way street, suddenly the lights at a gas station flickered on across the way. We turned around to check. They had just received fuel. We filled every container we had. By the time we finished, a long line of cars had already formed behind us.
It felt like divine timing.
We drove from Houston to Dallas with minimal difficulty, arriving near midnight. The next morning, we brought that little boy home.
Back in Houston, our funeral home still had no electricity. At the time, I was remodeling my childhood home to move in with my wife and children. The master bedroom was nearly complete. I installed a small window air conditioning unit and powered it with a generator. That room became a temporary preparation space where we lovingly cared for that little angel.
We worked through the night restoring him with dignity. His injuries were severe, but we did everything possible to give his parents a peaceful final memory.
The next mission was arranging services. The very first church I contacted offered their side chapel with electricity and told us we could use it as long as we needed. The cemetery was operational and allowed us to schedule burial promptly. Every door seemed to open exactly when we needed it to.
On the day of visitation, the chapel was filled with heartbreak. The parents were inconsolable. The weight of that loss was something you could feel in the air. Yet the lights stayed on. The service was completed without interruption.
Fifteen minutes after the last person walked out of the chapel, the power went out.
Fifteen minutes.
I stood there in disbelief. After days without electricity, after so many obstacles, the power remained on just long enough for that family to say goodbye.
In that moment, I didn’t feel lucky. I felt guided. I truly believe God was with us every step of the way — opening doors, protecting details, and allowing us to serve when we were needed most. I have always believed He was working through me so I could be there for that family.
The following day, we met at the cemetery. The family chose to release a dove during the service. When it was time for the mother to let go, she clutched the dove tightly, crying that she wasn’t ready to let her baby go. It was one of the most heartbreaking moments I have ever witnessed. Gently, we helped her release it.
What remains strongest in my memory is this: when the city was empty, when there was no gas, no electricity, and no certainty — a path was made.
Through every obstacle, we were able to provide dignity, compassion, and care.
That is what East Haven Funeral Home stands for.
In times of uncertainty, in moments of unimaginable loss, we will do everything within our power to serve families with faith, integrity, and unwavering commitment.
