My Grandpa Roy died in December of 1990, so this December made twenty years since he's been gone. Where has time gone? I was 10 when he died, and he lived in CA so I saw him about once a year. Sometimes more. Unfortunately I didn't get to know him as much as I would have liked.
This photo of my dad and Grandpa was taken about the time I was born. He used to smoke a pipe.
I still remember witnessing the terrible phone call that my mother received from my Grandma right after he died. Grandpa hadn't been feeling right ("indigestion") and they took him to the hospital where he had a heart attack and could not be revived. He was 68.
I remember my mother crying and I remember walking over and hugging her. I didn't know what to do and didn't think to hug her, but some force compelled me to get up and move over to her. We now know what that was, huh? We went to California for the funeral and stayed for Christmas. I remember seeing Grandpa laid out before his funeral. I remember riding in a limo to the grave site. I remember the chocolate mousse that someone brought over. I don't remember much else, though in hindsight I sure hope I behaved properly considering the circumstances.
My grandpa was not a member of the church, though he did grow up in Utah. Maybe if his ancestors had stayed faithful he would have been a member. Nonetheless, he was a very good man, kind and honest. He had a sense of humor. He loved his family. He loved my grandma. When other men did activities outside of work, my grandpa spent his spare time at home. My mother remembers weekend trips with her family. My grandpa was always supportive of the things my mother and her sisters did- dance recitals, church activities. He once told my mother that "he didn't have to worry about them choosing between right and wrong, they always chose between right and right" for their activities.
When the time came that my mother wanted to serve a mission, it was
him that was more supportive then my grandma who is a member. My grandma didn't want my mother to go to Colombia (South America was not a good place to go during the 70s) but my grandpa understood that this was the right thing to do. He even gave her a corsage at the airport when she left for her mission.
My grandparent's home was a magnet for all the kids in the neighborhood- it was a place where they could come play and be safe. When the neighborhood had a block party, the other adults would be drinking and lighting fireworks while my grandparents organized games for the kids. There was even a girl in the neighborhood who would come over and play board games with my grandparents because her parents never did things like that- and she'd come play even when my aunt, her friend, was in the other room doing homework!
When my parents married in the temple, none of their parents could attend. My grandpa understood and was supportive. When my mother was looking for a husband, she wanted someone with the good qualities that her father had. The only time my grandpa ever raised his voice was in defense of my mother- some drunk creep in the neighborhood grabbed her and spun her around when she was out at the car thinking she was his wife. My mother waited and said no to several boys who proposed marriage until she met my father- who had the qualities she was looking for.
The August before Grandpa died, my mom's side of the family went to Disneyland. It was mine and my sister's first time at Disneyland. It was a really fun trip with my family, my two aunts and Grandma and Grandpa. I'm so glad that we could get together and take that trip. We didn't know what laid ahead.
I remember Laura and I running and crawling into bed with my grandma and grandpa and my grandpa doing his "grizzly bear" impersonation. It was not a very big bed! He also had hair that always stood straight up- all he could ever do with his hair was a flatop. Mom remembers when he didn't get a haircut and his hair still stood up straight even though it was a couple inches long. I remember running my hand over his hair, it tickled. When we see people with hair like that, we lovingly refer to it as "Grandpa hair".
I remember Grandpa visiting us in WA and helping my dad dig in the yard to find a pipe- which wasn't anywhere where it was supposed to be! They dug a big trench that had to have been at least a hundred feet. Grandpa was a good worker, and he didn't mind doing things for his family.
I did a report on my grandpa right before he died- in 5th grade you were to interview a member of your family. He was the oldest of my grandparents, so I interviewed him. My grandpa doesn't exist in videotape or tape recordings, my recollection of his voice is a bit fuzzy. The interview is a treasure. My grandpa didn't own much and much of what he did own (like clothes) is no longer around. I do have one of his plaid flannel shirts.
Grandpa served in WWII, though not in active duty. He was like Radar on M.A.S.H. An extra hole in his eye didn't hurt him any, but kept him from fighting. I can't help but wonder if that was Heavenly Father saving him fro not so good things.
He met my grandma while at college, they were both waiting for a bus in Utah. Their story is funny- each claimed it was the other one who made the first move and asked what time it was at that bus stop.
This is nowhere near thorough enough to commemorate my grandpa's life. But I tried.
Thank you Grandpa, for being a good man and loving your family.
Thank you Grandpa for serving your country.
Thank you Grandpa for supporting my mother to serve a mission.
Thank you for asking Grandma the time (if that was you).
Because you were the man you were, my mother served a mission and later on found a good husband, which directly affected me for the better. Because you were the man you were, my mother knew that family was important.
Thank you.
We still miss you.
Grandpa and me
