George Robie

My mother's father was 92 when he passed away this last week. It's been a few days since the news and only now has it sunk in after seeing the memorial site my sister recently put up. http://grfmem.blogspot.com

When is was less than twelve I experienced both of my father's parents passing and my mother's mother passing. I don't really know how it affected me as a young pre-teen. I know many other people have experienced loss of fathers, mothers, brothers, and or sisters at an early age, but to that I can only hypothesize the affect or emotions.

My dad's father "Pa" as he was called was larger than life in my memory. I only knew him as a spoiled grandchild - and rightly so I guess. I never really knew much about him and still today I don't fully know much about the lives of any of my grandparents except my mother's father.

Not that I had a personal preference towards any of my grandparents. No. Not at all. I loved them all. It is the simple fact that he (George Robie or Grandad) was the only grandparent I knew as an adult. There were things I got to ask him that I never got the chance to ask the others. I guess it mostly had to do with age and stage of life, but that was my experience.

I remember when grandad used to stay in my eldest sister's room before his age had caught up with him. I came home from whatever function I was attending to a bald headed man asleep with his face buried in his Bible. I never got to the point where I talked spirituality/Christianity with my grandad and I figured he wasn't the type to open up too much on a topic like that. Besides - here was a man who had lived through the Great depression and been a paratrooper who jumped out of planes for pete's sake. I never had the courage to ask him about his time during WWII. I always wanted to, but I figured if he didn't talk about it then he didn't want to. I'm sure there were a lot of painful memories. Probably not all bad, but I didn't want to impose.

I also never got a chance to talk to him about my grandmother. I guess it kind of fell into the "WWII" category. He was a tenderhearted man as far as I could tell. I think the only two times I ever heard him speak of her name he cried. I think the main testimony to Grandad is the legacy of his grandchildren. He has so many. Not only so many, but so many who loved him so much. His room at the Pres. Village had countless pictures of his grand children and great grand children.

It feels so unreal to me. I feel like the trip Lindsay and I will be taking tomorrow could very well be back to Little Rock where we would pick him up and take him to the house so he could argue about smoking outside on the porch. Vantage was his cigarette of choice. Talk about brand loyalty. I never saw that man smoking anything else.

I think men/young guys or whatever you want to call guys like me around 26 don't like to feel or be seen in a vulnerable state. Ever since college I don't think I've really cried in sadness. I don't think my wife has ever seen my cry, but tonight I cried. I know that we are supposed to be happy that he is with Jesus and his wife again, and for that I am happy, but I will miss him.

For my Grandad: I love you.

J