After William F. Buckley Jr. died last year, a number of editorial cartoons pictured the famously polysyllabic conservative icon arriving at the Pearly Gates. In one, St. Peter is shown whispering to an angel:

"I'm going to need a bigger dictionary."

"I doubt St. Peter was any match for him," writes satirist and novelist Christopher Buckley in this touching and amusing memoir of his parents, who died within a year of each other.

"Losing Mum and Pup" is the story of that year. Patricia Buckley, the fashionable socialite and fundraiser, died in April 2007, during which time their only child struggled to make his parents' final days comfortable.

It wasn't easy, as both were in their 80s, suffering with illnesses. And while they were loving parents (some of the time), both were difficult to live with and formidably opinionated, their son writes.

Pat Buckley, whose pals included the Ronald Reagans, Henry Kissingers, David Niven and Princess Grace, had grown up "a debutante in a grand house in Vancouver, British Columbia . . . She was beautiful, theatrical, bright as a diamond, the wittiest woman I have ever known. She could have done anything; instead, she devoted herself heart, soul and body to being Mrs. William F. Buckley. (A full-time job.)"

W.F.B. Jr., one of 10 children in a prominent Connecticut family, was founder of the right-wing journal National Review, an essayist, critic, author of 50 books, occasional political candidate, sportsman and bon vivant.

"Cristo," as the author's parents called him, writes of spending much of his life trying to measure up to a father who could dash off a 750-word column in five minutes and complete a novel in six weeks of part-time writing days.

The couple married in 1950 and spent the rest of their lives together, often not speaking to each other. But they adored each other, and when his wife died, W.F.B. Jr. was bereft. He was also in terrible health (emphysema, diabetes, sleep apnea) and "his daily input of pills would be enough to give Hunter Thompson pause," writes his son.

Concerned that his father was gulping down sleeping pills by the handful, Christopher spent weeks at a time with him in the family home.

"Pup's self-medicating was, I venture, a chemical extension of the control he exerted over every other aspect of his life."

And until that last year, "Pup never plunged into bad moods or became grouchy if things didn't go his way, perhaps for the reason that they always went his way."

Father and son fought frequently, often over religion. W.F.B. Jr. was a devout Catholic, his son an agnostic. About half the 7,000 e-mails and letters they exchanged over the years were contentious.

Because his father was the legendary host of the TV political talk show "Firing Line," and one of the great debaters of the 20th century, Christopher writes that he often felt "like a chipmunk pitted against a rhino."

But there were many happy times. One chapter details the author's adventures at sea with his father, including one summer in 1975 when they sailed across the Atlantic, traveling 4,400 miles. They had so much fun they crossed the Pacific 10 years later, sailing from Honolulu to New Guinea.

After Bill Buckley Jr. died Feb. 27, 2008, he was buried in Sharon, Conn. His funeral service was held at St. Patrick Cathedral in New York, with 2,200 people in attendance.

Kissinger and Christopher delivered the eulogies, and President George Bush called with regrets.

There's much more in "Losing Mum and Pup," including tales of Mum's "serial misbehavior" and frequent prevarication, and little-known details of Pup's political involvement, such as the hush-hush phone calls he got from Watergate figure Howard Hunt that could have led to further trouble for Richard Nixon.

It's all wonderful reading, and Christopher Buckley, who's married with two children of his own, paints vivid portraits of his unorthodox parents. But there's no malice in his stories. While his life with them wasn't always easy, it was a privileged one, he acknowledges, and all three were devoted to each other.

"I hope this book, for all its complexities, is a testament to that devotion," he concludes.