My father, Robert Andrew West, passed away Friday morning, just one month shy of eighty. He had been ill for several weeks, failing to recover from cancer.
He had been patient with me during the long time I had been in college, then in looking for a job good enough for me to move to a house of my own. Since his retirement, he and Madre had enjoyed road trips and vacations to Vegas, until the Muslim Attacks put an end to them. He had also enjoyed his hobby flying ultralights over the Indiana landscape.
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I was told the visitation will be on Tuesday afternoon at the local funeral home, with a graveside service the following Wednesday morning.