By Stan Guthrie
I last saw Christine’s dad in October. Pete always made it a point to visit us, and other members of his extended family around the country, every year. Besides some unexplained back pain and a touch more fatigue than usual, he seemed perfectly normal, enjoying a hike with us at the Morton Arboretum to see the pumpkins and a whimsical exhibit of artistic trolls.
But a week before Christmas, Pete died of a rare and aggressive form of cancer at the age of 78.