Istill remember the sharp ring of the telephone in the dark hours of April 11, 1987. I was 30 years old when I heard the words no daughter ever wants to hear: “Your father died.”

My dad, Dave Baue, was the owner of our family’s funeral-home business in St. Charles, Missouri. I worked alongside him but had not been groomed to lead. In the instant after the phone rang, my life changed. The wake-up call was literal, and it became the defining moment of my life. I wasn’t just inheriting grief; I was inheriting responsibility.

My father had left a note to my brothers and me suggesting that this business was an emotional drain and we might want to consider selling it. But I chose differently. I decided to stay on, to step up, to find a way to become the leader the business needed, even though

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