When Paul answers, I blurt out the basics, after which I break down. I didn’t cry when Joy arrived, simply held her while she did, and I do come close to crying each time I look at Jack, who is in our house only because Dad is not. But while my eyes tear up seeing the empty chair in the living room as I make this call, it isn’t until I hear the voice of Paul, who was such a stable part of my childhood, that my control dissolves.

He murmurs disjointed words of comfort, seeming as upset by my tears as he is by my news. Like Jack, though, he is able to think. “Tom and I did talk about this. No to organ donation, despite my efforts to change his mind. As for the rest, it’s all on paper. I’ll bring that.” And fifteen minutes later, he arrives.

Paul Schuster’s is a welcome face, framed as it is by kind memories. Though never as tall and thin as my dad, he moves with a fitness that belies his age. His face is lightly lined, his brown hair faded. He wears slacks and an open-necked shirt, carries a worn leather briefcase, and has hazel eyes, which I only notice now because of their compassion, to which I cling. He is there for us. It’s a steadying thought.

I’m not the only one who finds strength in Paul. My sisters do as well, to judge from our collective composure as we sit at the kitchen table listening to Dad’s letter—which is so him that, in other circumstances, we would have laughed. He spells out in detail what he wants in these first days, naming the director of his funeral home of choice, his preferred style of casket and desire for peonies on top, and the location of his plot in the town cemetery. A draft of his obituary is attached, as if he knew of Margo’s hidden talent and was leaving the finished version to her. He wants to be buried in his judicial robe, and he wants people to be able to pay their respects for one full day and one full day only. He is specific about that. Tom Aldiss is controlling from the grave.

But we don’t mind. We now have direction, little jobs to do at a time when we’re still in shock.

This is what funerals are for. They keep the family busy to distract them from the actual loss.