This is the year my 92 year old father died. He had parkinsons but was still very alert. We all gathered around hime during Thank giving. This summer I drove my mom and dad to the family tree farm in upstate New York. My father seemed to enjoy being in the woods. It was the first time we discussed where they wanted their ashes buried and they both wanted them buried at the camp. Lesley, my sister drove them to Maine a few months later to see cousin Joan and Arnie. I admired my dadgreatly. He had seen the end of WWI, the depression, walked the hot ashes of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, worked in the civil rights movement and ended his career at 89 years old as a labor arbitrator. We will miss him greatly.