The Spirit Does Live On

Albert William Robinson; October 21, 1911 - June 13, 1987

It's June 13th. A day that I have dreaded for the last 30 years because it is something I haven't come to terms with.

See, 30 years ago today, in 1987, my Grandpa passed from this Earth. No, let me restate that. My father died. It affects me as much now as it did when my uncle called with the news.

As an adult, I can look back on my life with him and see so much more of how truly special he was, and how his legacy lives on.

He was a great man. A man with integrity, an opinion, and who could scare the hell out of people. In fact, even after he passed, all the mechanic had to hear was that Mom was Al Robinson's daughter and they quaked in their shoes!!

But really, he was a kind, funny man whose family was everything to him. Even in bad times, he had a sense of humor and an even better sense of sarcasm. He believed in hard work and honesty. If he brought you into his confidence, he was loyal to you.

Not a great picture, but: left to right, Mom, Aunt Marian, Grandpa, Grandma, Aunt Margaret, and Uncle Dick

Though I only knew her when she was unwell, my Grandma was a spunky woman, who when told to take a cold bath when she asked for air conditioning, took Grandpa's advice and had one coincidently during the time he came home from lunch.

My memories of her are of an extremely ill woman who couldn't walk often. Mom took care of her (and us) the first few years, then she went back to work when I started school. Then we had a few nurses come in. Finally, Grandpa retired so he could care for her. She passed away a few months later. 

Never did he put her in a nursing home. No matter how bad she got. He took her everywhere, too. She loved cruises. And Grandpa pushed her around in her wheelchair everywhere they went. He didn't use her health as an excuse to not go on vacation and deal with the inconveniences of traveling with an invalid wife. No, he went out of his way to make her happy.

Grandpa and Grandma on their 25th Anniversary

When my Dad left my Mom and sister, there was no question that she could move back in with her parents. At the time, my Mom was pregnant with me. His love and compassion gave my Mom the opportunity to raise us with a strong foundation from which to start off, comfort, and stability. Even after my Grandpa got remarried and moved in with his wife Tommie, he let us live at the house and paid most of the utilities. 

I have so many memories from growing up with him. He loved talking politics and believed that all Americans should participate in our government. My first memories are from Reagan's presidency. Especially the Iran-Contra fiasco. Our holidays were never dull. He would take me to get allergy injections and he took me to a restaurant afterward, where I would inevitably order a banana split, that I would inevitably not finish. He, of course, would finish it. This was pretty routine.

When he married Tommie, he moved in with her. At the back of her house, there was an indoor, inground pool. They spent a long time fixing it up so the grandkids could come and swim in the summer. Basically, that meant just me. Looking back, I realize what a pain in the covfefe I must have been because I was there almost every day in the summer on weekdays, and for hours. During the school year, I passed their house and usually stopped for awhile afterward. Actually, I think I would stay until he picked up my Mom. The car she drove was his, and he would take it while she was at work and pick her up. And he never indicated that I was a pain. I loved that house. It had a fenced off area where there was a tiny cement pond with bird feeders. There was plate glass windows floor to ceiling. I used to sit and watch for hours.

Grandpa and Tommie at my cousin Kenny's wedding

And then there were the cats. A neighbor gave Mom a stray kitten. She was standing in the yard with it when my Grandparents came home. Grandpa got out yelling "No!" Kitty went to my Aunt's house, and meanwhile, my sister would burst into tears every time she looked at Grandpa. Things didn't work out with my Aunt, and we got a kitty. Thus began a battle of wills between Clover and Grandpa. Most of the time Clover won because Grandpa was a softie When I was ten, there was a kitten that climbed into the car engine. We got him out, and he went into the crawl space. Blocked that off and he went behind the hot water heater. During this period Mom kept telling us "Don't tell Grandpa we got him a food dish. Don't tell Grandpa he has his own litter box." Meantime, Grandpa was saying "You aren't keeping that cat, are you?" Finally, he said, "You're keeping that cat, aren't you." Max and Grandpa had a wonderful relationship. Max was terrified of men and would recognize the sound of the car going around the corner onto our street and he would hide. Grandpa never saw him.

Grandpa was a closet poet. You could give him a bunch of information, no matter how divergent, and he could whip out a poem that was funny, sarcastic and have everything given to him. His pen name was "Phineas Throttlebottom." I wish I had some of his work.

I believe that Grandpa believed in God, but had a problem with churches. Mom took us to a Wesleyan church a few blocks away. When Grandma passed, Pastor Bailey did the service and a little luncheon afterward, even though she had never gone there. Grandpa was so impressed that he gave my Mom permission to rebind a Wesleyan Hymnal that was over a hundred years old as a gift for all that they did. When Grandpa and Tommie went to the Middle East, he brought back frankincense and myrrh for the Pastor. They had a mutual liking of one another and when Grandpa was in the hospital, the Pastor visited several times a week with him. I don't know what transpired between them, but I'm sure that Pastor Bailey brought him great comfort, and to us as well.

When I was told that Grandpa had cancer, I knew it wasn't going to end well. He was in the hospital from February - June...and the mesothelioma was never treated. The doctors made some major mistakes.

My Mom and Tommie were with him when he passed. I got a phone call from my uncle, who came and got me. I was 15 at the time. I was in a fog. My world had unalterably changed and I couldn't understand how everyone around me was acting normal - why weren't they acting like that? All I wanted was my Mom. We all met up at Tommie's to write the obituary...at least my Mom, her sisters and brother, and Tommie. When we got home, we made some dumb, inappropriate joke. I don't know what, but I knew that Grandpa would be laughing. And then we threw out a VooDoo doll that had always freaked me out. I don't remember much from the wake and funeral. I went up once to see him, and then avoided going up for the rest of the time. I had a friend with me and we took my cousin's kids to Dairy Queen. Spent a lot of time in the park across from the funeral home. I remember that a family friend had just gotten back from her honeymoon and came just as it was ending. She looked at me and gave me a big hug saying that he was my Dad. He was. I remember sitting in a side room while the rest of the people paid their last respects. I don't remember anything else.

I never got to tell him I loved him. I saw him briefly while he was in the hospital. He was on a respirator and I just left the room. Our family was also one that didn't tell each other that every day. 

I also like to imagine what he would be doing if he were still alive. He'd probably be banned on every political site for inappropriate comments. He loved tinkering with things, especially electronic, so I can also see him playing with a smartphone.

And I also know that his spirit does live on. It lives in my Mom, sister, and I. In every person that was touched by him.

For me, specifically, I grew up in his house. He was my father figure, a role model, someone to emulate (by the way, Mom also fits this description.) I cannot accurately say exactly who I got these from - either my Mom or Grandpa (and Mom probably got it from Grandpa.)

🌟 Grandpa was a civil engineer, I think my thought processes are analytical, like his.

🌟 Sarcasm and a sometimes inappropriate sense of humor.

🌟 Love of electronics and tinkering. He loved seeing how things worked. I share that same thing.

🌟 Loyalty to family and friends.

🌟 A good moral compass (and yes, Mom gave me this too!)

🌟 A love of writing. I can do poetry if I want, but I love to research and write on topics.

🌟 The importance of voting. And since my earliest political memories are tearing around the Democratic offices while Mom volunteered for Jimmy Carter's two election campaigns, Mom is also a big influence.

🌟 The art of debate. Again, Mom is too!

🌟 The art of yelling obscenities at the TV.

And I'm sure so much more.

I was truly blessed to have been his granddaughter.

I love and miss you Grandpa!