What it’s like growing up in a family run funeral home

“Most kids don’t take road trips with a casket as their travel companion”

Growing up around a funeral home is an experience few people can truly understand. For our family, Garden Hill Funeral Home has been more than a business—it has been a part of our lives for as long as we can remember. From the early days when Mom and Dad, just 21 years old and fresh from their farm upbringing on the Canadian Prairies, purchased the funeral home in 1982, to the countless families they have guided with care and compassion, our home and workplace have always been intertwined.

In this blog, I spoke with my parents and brothers to capture some of their memories, reflections, and stories from growing up in and running the funeral home. These personal glimpses not only tell the story of our family’s journey but also highlight the deep sense of community, trust, and care that has shaped Garden Hill over the past four decades.

Hey everyone it’s Nathan, the oldest Logue son here. Growing up in the funeral home wasn’t always what people might imagine. My parents, brothers and I shared not only a family home but also a unique perspective on life, shaped by the work our parents devoted themselves to. I asked each of them to share a memory and reflect on how this upbringing has influenced them today. 

Peggy will start with some reflections on her early days. 

Being part of owning a funeral business that I knew nothing about was very overwhelming for me. I’d come to the “city” from a small farming community.  So very different in all ways to what I knew!!! I was working at a dental office at the time of our acquisition.  Having to learn the funeral profession as well as how the business side of things ran was quite a challenge at first.  

I think my country/ farm up bringing taught me the value of hard work and long days which stood me well in our first years of owning a family business.  I had learned to “stick with it “ in the good and bad very early in life. 

I learned early on with a husband that was on call 24/7 and raising a very young family … that his service and commitment to families was a very high priority. (I didn’t always appreciate that!!!), but learned that was what funeral service was all about. 

Tim reflects now on his memories of the early days until now. 

Leaving the prairies of Saskatchewan at 18 to move to the West Coast was a big adjustment. But nothing compared to what came just a few years later purchasing a funeral home in Maple Ridge at the age of 21. The first year of ownership was full of surprises. My wife, Peggy, who I had been married to for just over two years, became quite ill during the process of purchasing the funeral home. Everyone, including her doctors, assumed it was stress. As it turned out, we were actually expecting our first son. Suddenly, life looked very different—we weren’t just figuring out how to manage a new business, but also how to provide for a growing family. That was back in 1983. Now, more than 40 years later, Peggy and I have been blessed with three sons—Nathan, Nolan, and Nick. Today, they’re all actively involved in the funeral home. What makes us especially proud is that our business remains not only family-owned, but also 100% family-operated—something almost unheard of in our profession in 2025.

Over the years, I’ve worked alongside Peggy, her father Jack, my brother-in-law, and many dedicated staff members who truly became part of our extended family. Through all of those seasons, my greatest sense of fulfillment has come from knowing we’ve been able to serve thousands of families, helping them navigate some of life’s most difficult moments with care, dignity, and compassion.

Looking back, the journey hasn’t always been easy, but it has always been meaningful. And as I watch our sons carry the torch into the next generation, I’m grateful for the path that began on a Saskatchewan farm and led us here to Maple Ridge—where family has always been at the heart of everything we do.

Nathan—or “Nate,” as he’s more casually known—shares his reflections of growing up in and around the funeral home.

When I was born, we lived in the suite above the funeral home. Some of my earliest memories are of sneaking down to the main floor and peeking through the dark brown spindles on the staircase to see who Dad was talking to at the entrance to the funeral home. Most days after school we would ‘go to work’ since both Mom and Dad were busy at the funeral home. Our friends would tease us and even dared us to have our parents pick us up from school in the hearse.

I still remember the scent of flowers, strong perfumes, colognes, and even cigarettes—it’s funny how certain smells linger and instantly bring you back to those days. Ashtrays were set out for the mourners all over the funeral home. Funerals are, and always will be, for the living. Over the years, I’ve seen how society and funeral professionals have shifted how we acknowledge death—whether it’s called a ‘celebration of life,’ a cremation gathering, or even a reception at a golf course banquet hall.

Growing up, the three of us Logue boys went to school in Maple Ridge, and we always got strange looks when people asked what our dad did for work. Living in a community like ours also meant losing friends, neighbors, and classmates along the way. Those experiences made for some tough weeks, but I think they also helped us naturally fit in when each of us eventually started training as funeral directors.

Because death doesn’t always happen between 9 and 5, we got used to Dad leaving at any hour to care for families. In those days before cell phones, our house had multiple landlines—one beside Mom and Dad’s bed, one in the kitchen, one in the garage. We weren’t allowed to touch them, and when they rang, we knew to be completely silent. When I started working full-time, I had two landlines in my own home as well, until cell phones and answering services made things more manageable.

Many family times, special occasions, and gatherings were interrupted—or even postponed—because a new death had brought a family to Garden Hill. Our family minivan often doubled as a transfer van, and I can still see Dad moving the seats in and out of that old Dodge Caravan.

Even with all those years around death, grief didn’t really hit me until I was 33. I’d been working full-time since I was 19, but nothing compared to the pain of writing my own Grandpa Jack’s obituary in 2018. I’d typed hundreds of them before, but that one left a hollow pit I’ll never forget. Grandpa Jack had always been a fixture at the funeral home—helping out wherever he could, fixing anything, and even traveling west from Manitoba to lend a hand. Losing him was different. It was deeply personal.

Nolan remembers the days when we were quite young.

Every so often, we’d pile into the old family van to head over to North Vancouver to visit our grandparents. But before we got there, there was usually an extra stop on the way—a detour to the crematorium. I can still picture us climbing into the back of the van, wedged in beside a casket. At the time, it didn’t feel unusual. It was simply part of life.

Looking back now, though, I realize just how unusual it actually was. Most kids don’t take road trips with a casket as their travel companion. But for us, it was completely normal—just another day in the family business. The logic was simple: the cremation had to be done on the North Shore, and since we were heading that way anyway, why not swing by and visit Grandpa and Grandma while we were out there?

It’s funny how those moments, which seemed so ordinary at the time, take on a different meaning as you get older. At the time, it was just a van ride with a stop and a visit. Now, it’s one of those quirky, almost surreal memories that reminds me of how unique our upbringing really was.

I feel it has given me a deeper respect and appreciation for the little things in life—the special moments. The kinds of moments you often hear about in a eulogy: Christmas mornings, birthdays, simple trips, or time spent with friends and family. For me, it’s things like coaching or cheering on my kids at sporting events or sitting in the audience at their recitals or taking walks with my wife to catch up amidst the busyness of work, kids activities, and raising a young family.

These are the intangible things that truly matter. Growing up in this business has given me a unique perspective, and I feel fortunate that I’ve learned to recognize and value these moments for what they are.

Nick’s feelings about growing up in the funeral home.

Growing up in the funeral home always felt like a shared experience with my brothers. It was that one ‘thing’ we could all relate to, and it gave us a sense of understanding—someone always knew what you were going through. Looking back, that still brings a smile to my face.

I think being raised in the funeral home shaped how I see both life and death in a very positive way. It made me value the gift of life and gave me perspective—when things get hard, I know it could always be harder. It also deepened my appreciation for community. As I got older, I realized just how much of an impact a supportive community can have on an individual.

It gave me a healthy view of death as well. While it’s always a difficult time for families, I’ve witnessed the healing that can happen and the reconciliation that sometimes takes place among loved ones. Death was never something strange or uncomfortable for me to be around or to talk about—it’s the one thing that connects us all, the one experience everyone shares.

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For more than 40 years, the Logue family has been deeply rooted in the Maple Ridge community. Raised and trained in humility, kindness, empathy, and respect, many of our best traits can be traced back to our farming roots. In funeral service, we’ve come to be known as “last responders”—quietly present in moments of pain, loss, and transition. Over the decades, we’ve seen both the heaviest and the lightest parts of people’s lives, and in doing so, we’ve learned to embrace and accept those same realities within our own family.

While the Logue boys’ spouses and children haven’t lived within the funeral home walls the way we once did, they’ve been right alongside us through the hardest weeks and the most rewarding moments. For that support, Nathan, Nolan, and Nick are truly grateful. And now, as the next generation grows—with eight grandchildren and counting—we can only imagine how their own stories will be shaped by the family legacy.

Just as we have stood beside Maple Ridge families for more than four decades, we remain committed to being here—quietly, faithfully, and with compassion—for the generations still to come.