Blind Prophecy

Grandma Vivian and Grandpa Rob visiting for Easter in 2005.

Grandpa Rob with Jared after my high school graduation.

My grandfather passed away this morning. September 25, 1925 – September 5, 2009. After a slow and steady battle with cancer, and under the loving care and attention of his children the last few weeks as he started losing that battle, he died peacefully in his sleep early this morning.

Grandpa Rob lived a long and full life. It’s hard to know what to say now. I find myself faced with the stark reality that I never really knew enough about my maternal grandfather. I know bits and pieces, of course, a few stories of his early years, that he was a therapist by trade, that he once served as Bishop of his church (a role somewhat like local priest or maybe ministry and board chair in other religious traditions). He had a large family with his first wife, Grandma Lu, and after she passed, he chose to marry Vivian to share his retirement years. He collected coins and stamps, made and painted beautiful ceramics despite being color blind, and enjoyed jigsaw puzzles. I recall one of those stories about Grandpa’s toenail clippings and Grandma’s frustration with the way he disposed of them that is probably funnier if you knew them.

I know my own relationship with him suffered because of an unintentional slight I carried too closely for too long. When I came out of the closet, I was hurt by the flurry of “I love you, but…” responses from relatives that felt like lectures and scolding despite the best of intentions. Grandpa Rob’s letter stung me particularly deep and it was a few years before I let go of my resentment.

More than anything, the word that comes to mind when I think of Grandpa Rob is “patriarch” with the sometimes good, sometime uncomfortable baggage that word carries. I can picture him stern and severe. I can also picture him laughing and joyous. Of all the people I’ve known and met, he is the only one whose eyes literally sparkled when he smiled, at least in my memory. He always presided over family gatherings and functions as far back as I can remember. He has officiated at weddings and ring exchange ceremonies for my sisters and cousins. He has, at some point or another, performed laying-on-of-hands blessings for nearly everyone in the large and tribal clan of my maternal family. He is forever linked to the memories and customs of Mormonism that I think are a little sweet if I don’t think about them too hard.

When I think of Grandpa Rob, it is sometimes difficult to separate him from my feelings about a culture and religion I have worked long and hard to distance myself from. I have often told people that I would legally change my middle name after Grandpa Rob died – my middle name “Heber” is his name, too, and it’s a distinctly and awkwardly Mormon name (technically Biblical, but also the name of the 7th LDS President and several Utah landmarks).

But never let it be said that I had reason to doubt his love for me and the entire, unruly, messy, scattered family. Deeper than the uncomfortable religious stuff, there’s a more pervasive influence Grandpa Rob had on my life, the best phrase I can arrive at is “family values.” Not the neo-conservative catchphrase – but the substantive meaning: value placed on the family as a unit, ties that bind, tough love and difficult love but unconditional love, the people, our people, my people. He put his family back together time and time again: after the untimely death of his son, my uncle Timmy; after the death of his wife, my grandmother; after feuds and tragedies and betrayals and achievements, Grandpa was the center that brought everyone back together. We came together in Grandpa’s house, we celebrated our milestones under his guidance, we strive to be like him where he was kind and encouraging and wise.

I love you, Grandpa.

My thoughts are with my family back in Utah, of course, and as I said before I will not be coming back to Utah for the funeral (which, I understand is on Thursday according to my aunt’s facebook status – this is the first time I’ve learned of a death through FB, but only because I didn’t check my messages from Mom before logging on). When I do visit in December for the holidays, I will make a trip to his grave.

ETA: Thanks to everyone for your kind words. His official obituary tells a little more of his story, as does my sister’s lovely blog.

Filed under: Mi Familia by Jere Keys