My wife flew to her parents' in Illinois to spend a week with them. Nothing critical, it's just a matter of wanting to spend good time with them before they're gone. They took a road trip to Quincy, where he grew up; they visited his parents' and grandparents' graves, went by the Old Soldiers' Home, to the waterfront to look for eagles, went by the corner where the Recruiting Station was, where he and four of his best friends went on December 9, 1941; only two came back. They ate at a Maid Rite (loose meat sandwiches like you'd see at The Lanford Lunch Box on Roseanne). Jane tells me he talked and talked all day, so happy to be in his old home town with his wife and daughter. When I think of the dignity and passion with which this good man has lived, and continues to live, his life, I am deeply, deeply moved, and am so thankful for his influence on my own life. Just wanted to share; I'm sure you have your own stories of the good people who have helped you along.
This post was edited on 3/14 3:06 PM by LionJim
This post was edited on 3/14 3:06 PM by LionJim