I don’t usually open with words, but this is not one of my usual posts.
Four days after Christmas, my father passed away suddenly, at the age of 83. He had been in the hospital with some complications from a hip fracture when his heart just stopped.
He had lived in Dallas for 50+ years, but we chose to bury him in his hometown in southern Illinois, where he grew up and where his parents are buried. Illinois always felt like home to him, and it seemed like the right place to all of us. This is the story of the road trip my husband, brother, and I took to my dad’s final resting place.
Warning: I included a photo of the open casket below.
We visited the house that my grandparents lived in since the early 1930s. We sold it 20 years ago, after my granddad had died and my grandmother was living full-time in a nursing home.
We drove my dad’s car on this trip…and discovered his notes about how to work the seat.
My favorite blanket ever. We brought it with us in the car, to the hotel, everywhere. They made fun of me, but this blanket is amazing.
My dad is buried next to someone named Lyle.
My grandfather, with the tent in the background so you can see how close my dad is to them.
In memory of my dad, Larry: April 14, 1930 – December 29, 2013.