Grandpa, you were always so loving and kind. I remember being a little girl and coming to visit you almost every week. You were so soft-spoken, yet dignified in all you did. Being several feet taller than the rest of us, we always looked up to you. It was always funny to hug you; my arms would hit right around your middle, and I never seemed to grow more than that. You used to let me read you book after book when I would come to visit. I would sit in your lap and read you picture books, usually the same ones over and over again. I don't know how exciting that really was for you, but you always seemed so enthused and attentive that I felt you loved it and loved me for reading to you. Visits to your house always meant extra bowls of ice cream, chocolate malt crunch from Thrifty's, and you were never opposed to giving us an extra scoop or two. You would take us to see the ducks in the pond by your house, or out to the stables to help you feed the horses. I remember Eric wearing your giant boots to help you feed them one night.
You always cared to listen to us about what we were doing. I always felt I had your full attention when I told you about school and band and sports, like I was the most important girl in the world. Once in high school I interviewed you for a project on the Great Depression. You told me about growing up in American Fork, Utah with a "crick" in your yard. It sounded like such an idyllic childhood. You told me a rhyme from your childhood that ended in "you never miss the water till the well runs dry." I always remember that for some reason. I used to ask you about serving in the War because I loved history. You told me you flew 35 bomber missions in a B-17 bomber. I understand why you never told me more.
You used to take us to IHOP for dinner often. I know now that it was because you worked there as a VP. I remember all those funny face pancakes and kids' menus you helped me color.
Your house was always filled with music. I remember your deep, bass voice in the Church choir and in the living room around Grandma's piano. You always knew all the words to the songs.
Grandpa, you were clearly more than just a tall guy, you were a spiritual giant. When we would come over for Family Home Evening you always knew the answers to scripture questions, gave insightful responses, and simply radiated your testimony of Jesus Christ. I could almost see the mantle of the priesthood on your shoulders as you lead our family. I remember you standing in the temple with me as I took out my endowments, and then again as I was sealed to my sweetheart in the same place you were sealed to yours. I'm so glad you were there, a quiet testament to the importance of eternal families.
You were one of the few people who was genuinely excited to see me go to college at a UC instead of BYU. You told (many times) that you went to UC Berkeley on the GI Bill and that you were happy for me to be going to such a great school. Education was very important to you. For years you practiced the frugal lessons you learned as a child of the depression and carefully saved and invested your money. I know you did that for your posterity. You created a trust fund so all your grandkids could have money to go to college and get an education. I know that without that money I could not have gone to UCSB, and without that money my husband and I could not have graduated from college debt-free. That gift of education, given so lovingly from years of careful saving, has blessed and will continue to bless your posterity in countless ways. I will always be eternally grateful to you for my education.
Grandpa, most of all I am grateful that you lived a wonderful life. You were always happy, attentive, and loving. At your memorial someone mentioned that tinkle you always had in your eyes. That's the best description I can think of for your bright countenance; you truly did twinkle.
While I am sad that you have left this earth, I know you continue to live on. I know that death is not the end, and that I will see you again. I know that because of Jesus Christ's atonement, one day you will stand again upon the earth, resurrected and perfected. All my sadness is swallowed up in the joyful anticipation of that reunion. Just as you did, I know that our Redeemer lives, and in Him, all shall live again. Until I see you again, I love you Grandpa.
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