The interment was lovely. It was well attended by family. The weather cooperated.

I'm realizing how little I actually know about much of my extended family. I recognize their names and faces, but I probably wouldn't travel to their funerals. Perhaps I'm overthinking this. Most of the family is retired and lives within a 15-minute drive of the church. A few live a few hours away. Only my brother and I must travel across the continent.

My brother puts much effort into memorizing family dates and names, births, marriages, and deaths. On Sunday, we toured other family gravesites. He noticed that I have a cousin who was born less than three months after his parents' marriage. Dad had a good laugh. Dad has always known that uncle and aunt had a shotgun wedding. They kept it hidden as my aunt was training to be a nurse in a city that only had Catholic hospitals. The secret was kept well enough as my aunt went on to have a successful career in nursing.

And my father—he is doing well. There are moments when a little grief creeps up on him. But, by and large, he is in good spirits. He is taking much better care of the house than the last time we were here. He regularly visits neighbors and relatives. He is also enjoying his job as a school bus driver.