Stellmon Quarterly Summer 2017

FHE: April 17, 2017

Tonight Nelly's Family Home Evening assignment was music, and in addition to selecting the songs she accompanied our opening song (Book of Mormon Stories). She did a great job, even with her little brother "helping" her with the high notes.

As happens from time to time (always), not everyone was in the Family Home Evening mood. Ham spent the majority of this one whimpering under the table because he didn't like his assignment (or more specifically, he didn't like that his turn for the most coveted assignments were over and now he had a long wait until it was his turn for Activity and Treat again).

 Dad was in charge of the scripture. He shared a favorite:

James 1:5-6
If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him. But let him ask in faith, nothing wavering. For he that wavereth is like  a wave of the sea driven with the wind and tossed.

Then for Deakin's lesson, we watched a video depicting Joseph Smith's First Vision -- an event that occurred after Joseph read the above verse and decided to ask God which of all the churches of his time taught the truth.

We finished up the night with some leftover Easter treats (soooooo much candy in this house) and everyone's favorite treat: Grandma chocolate! Every year for Christmas, Great Grandma Janes sends a box of chocolates. We take our time getting through the box, pulling it out for special occasions and letting everyone pick a mystery chocolate.

Then we burned off the candy calories with a rousing game of Musical Pillows.

Stellmon Quarterly Fall 2016

Grampa

Last Sunday (May 1), late in the night, my grandfather passed away. He was 86 years old and his health had been failing for a long time. His passing was not unexpected, and in many, many ways it was a great blessing and relief. But because of the wonderful man that he was and the incredible relationships he had cultivated with all of us in his family, his passing was difficult.

There's a lot I could say about Grampa -- what a hard worker he was, or a great gardner. His trees. His chinchillas. His coins. His genealogy. The way he'd always buy us Chicken Bones (a terrible candy I never liked and gobbled up just the same) from the upstairs candy counter at ZCMI every time they'd come to town. The way he'd put kittens down my Uncle Brian's shirt. The way he'd sniff out an exposed toe (pig) from a mile away and decry how foul it smelled. The way he called us birds and squirrels and talked just like a character from the 1920s.

But one memory has stood out for me above all others this last week. It's not a specific one-time memory, but rather a recurring event that played out exactly the same way over and over again.

When I was a student at the University of Idaho, Hamilton was the perfect halfway stop on my long drive home to Idaho Falls. I loved taking advantage of the "Roy Hotel" -- not only was it clean and cozy, but it always came with a good home-cooked meal.

I can't count how many nights I stayed over on my way to or from college, but each and every time I would stay, in the morning Grampa would load my things into my car, get into his own sedan and lead me to the gas station. Once there, despite my protests, he'd always top off my gas tank then take me into the store where he'd buy me a Salted Nut Roll and a soda -- normally a Mountain Dew, though sometimes I could get away with buying a cola instead. And then he'd slip me $20 -- telling me it was for the road and he'd never take no for an answer.

And then every time -- every single time -- as I drove away, he'd be there at the gas pump, holding his hand up in such a grandfatherly wave. I never made it more than 100 yards before I would erupt into sobs -- big, ugly cries that weren't exactly conducive to the 70 miles per hour I'd soon be driving.

I don't know what it was about those goodbyes that always got to me. Grampa's health was good back then, and normally I had plans to stop by again on my way back through in just a matter of days or weeks, so I wasn't afraid I wouldn't see him again. I think it was two things. First, I think I always missed Grampa immediately -- even though I was used to seeing him only a few times a year, whenever we were apart again I just missed him. And perhaps even more, I think during that period of my life when I was trying so hard to be an adult -- to be independent, to make my own choices, to move forward in life -- Grampa was there unchangingly, unyieldingly taking care of me. And I didn't begrudge him for it. Not one bit. I think that's why I cried -- because as much as I was growing up, as much as I was no longer a child, it made me feel so safe to know I would never outgrow the love and support of my Grampa.

That's why it was Grampa cornering me in the hallway of a Coeur d'Alene hotel the night before my wedding that set me off as well. Just him and me, standing in the hallway, and in his classic way he slipped me some money -- said it was for later and of course couldn't be compelled to take it back.

I didn't need money. Well, I mean, of course we did need money. But it wasn't about the money. It was Grampa's way of saying grown-up or not, married or not, I was still his little squirrel and he would always be there to take care of me.

I wasn't due to see Grampa again until late this summer, but just like every time I would see him waving in my rearview mirror as I pulled out onto Highway 93, I miss him so immediately. I am so happy for him to be free from this life and I am so grateful for the family members and loved ones who made his later years and his passing so comfortable. I feel so strongly that he is still and always will be there to take care of me.

Grampa Roy meeting Rutherford Roy in 2014.

With Grampa and cousins (and sister) in 2014.

I am so grateful for every experience I had with my grandfather. I feel so fortunate to have known, loved and been loved by him. And I cannot wait until our next meeting, when he'll no doubt top off my tank and help me on my way to my next destination.

Stellmon Quarterly Spring 2016