Grandpa: 3.15.1922 - 5.13.2009

We cannot fear death. We can be angry at it for stealing those we love. We can fight it or quietly ignore it's inevitability. When it comes, we can accept it and hope it was gracious enough to let us reflect and treasure moments of life.

Grandpa lived 87 years. And I’m surrounded by his successors—or rather, his successes. He managed to score a fabulous wife that I’m ever grateful to call my Grandma. They forged a life together for 62 years...through countless hardships and celebrations. Many of the celebrations are with us today—his sons and daughters, their sons and daughters. All collectively making up a family that’s firmly and happily entangled, sincerely invested in one another. He got to see his sons grow into men and their sons grow into men. And the same for his daughters. Well, they actually grew into women, but you get the idea.

I’m not the best one to speak here. I only got to know him for 30 something of his 80 something years. I’m missing 50 years of information! But I can guess. I can speculate. I’ve spent hours with Julie gleaning over black and white photos. But I also remember countless non-school days we got to spend at Grandma’s. The routines. Feeding the cows. Lunches. Naps. The giant tire swing. Horseshoes. Grandpa’s chair. Cardinal baseball. Or any baseball, for that matter. Old Crow. Hay rides. Not necessarily in that order.

I don’t remember him saying too much. But I do remember that he, like my dad, used to say an awful lot with no words at all. Is that a Roettger trait? Those distinct sound effects that delivered the well-timed punch line. You knew when you were in trouble, when you were exasperating, when your humor—on purpose or not—was well-appreciated. And, you knew when those Roettger men were asleep!

I am deeply saddened by our loss.

But am infinitely grateful for so much of what Grandpa is leaving behind. While we’re shedding tears together, I think of countless other times this family has collected—weddings, birthdays, first communions, holidays, and most Sundays—except the first Sunday of the month! And know that there are countless times that go well before my own memory.

And I know.
We are so lucky.
And Grandpa should be so proud.
To go to sleep with the confidence that he is leaving behind a lot of love...more valuable than any singular accomplishment, than any amount money.

I love Grandpa. I feel weak at the loss of him. But then I can look around at the collective strength and love in all of us and I am consoled. I love you all.