5:20

It was a big joke in my family that when they moved from Montgomery, NY to CT in 1971, I never got a room. I had just gone to college in the hills of NC and for all intent and purpose, at 18 I had moved out. I was always welcome and always had a spot to sleep- a borrowed bed, a pull out couch, a pile of coats on the floor in the corner....So the other day as the old man lay in his bed, barely able to move, he pointed to a little louver door, high on the wall, leading to storage in his bedroom. "Put a sign on that door." he instructed my sister Mrs. Budinski. "That can be Michael's room." Right 'til the end he could give a needle as well as he could take one.

Early yesterday morning my father Richard Alfred Osterhout died. I've cried so much the last two weeks i thought I was cried out. Of course I was wrong. But now the tears don't last. His passing was anticipated and hoped for. After a few sniffles I suck it up and smile. Time to get on with things.

As much as I'll miss seeing him, what I'll miss the most is his frequent phone calls. "What's going on over there?" he would ask. Most times nothing was going on, but we would always find something to talk about. "Checking in and checking up." was another of his favorite phone greetings. He didn't have to try to stay in touch. He did it so automatically that if one short of the whole family was gathered around him, he'd pick up the phone and dial the missing person. It drove the rest of us crazy.

Last night, after working all day with Bird, we went back to my shack and called the Voegelins. But Vic and Georgia had beat us to it and invited us for dinner with the whole clan. Bird couldn't make it (his own family was his priority), but I wouldn't miss it. I was OK until Vic led me outside the house and instructed me to lower the flag to half mast in honor of his best friend- Dick. The tears flowed but were cut short when we realized we had locked ourselves out of the house. The cold wind howled and Vic and I hugged and laughed. We circled the house knocking on windows but everyone was having such a good time telling Uncle Dick stories, they couldn't hear us. Vic had a bottle of Bailey's in his pocket and I had some matches. So we went over by the edge of the pasture and started a little campfire to stay warm. We huddled together, watching the sparks swirl and spit to the heavens and toasted his friend and my father. I looked at my watch. It was 5:20 pm. Mom would be pouring her glass of wine and for the first time in 59 years having happy hour without the love of her life. God speed Old Man. You leave this world filled with love in your memory.