We made it safe and sound to Illinois. The drive was long; we got caught in rush hour traffic on I-294 yesterday morning, which was . . . unpleasant.
The wake will be this afternoon and the funeral tomorrow morning.
The obituary is lovely, but it seems incomplete to me. It doesn't mention my father-in-law's quiet sense of humor, or how infectious and warm his smile was, or his great, booming voice when he recited poetry or Shakespeare at the dinner table, or how much he loved going to the symphony and watching movies at home with his wife. It doesn't talk about his sense of whimsy, unexpected and charming in a man who, upon first impression, seemed so stern--until you caught the twinkle in his eye. And it doesn't remark upon his love of ice cream, his favorite dessert above any other, or how he enjoyed gazing out the window at the rabbits and raccoons as he washed the after-dinner dishes. So many things it doesn't say. His stubbornness and his compassion, the strength he gave his children, the encouragement and approval he gave me--sharing with me the struggles and joys of being a writer; he truly was a father to me, much more so than my birth father ever was. And most of all, it doesn't mention the gaping hole his passing has left behind.
He was much loved and is dearly missed.