How did the end of the work day feel to my father?
What did he think about as he glimpsed an evening sky in winter through his office windows?
Was the signal to return home a welcome one?
What did he picture waiting for him once he had opened the back door of his home?
Was there somewhere a final stretch of quiet he counted on, a time to be himself a little longer, a reason to slow his pace even slightly?
I hope he got what he wanted in his life. The way he wanted it. The way he always hoped it would be.