In Memory

Sherman Arthur Rogers
January 30, 1927 - May 24, 2009

Today would have been my Papa's 83rd birthday. He passed away this summer after a long battle with a heart that couldn't keep up. We miss him greatly. He has left a space in our family - a space too big. After almost 61 years of marriage my Grandma has bravely gone from wife and caretaker to widow.

She has done so with grace and dignity.

It was a blessing that we had our annual family beach trip planned for the following week. We went from bedside to graveside and then as an entire family went to ocean side. As a family we were able to celebrate and grieve. Papa was a family man and that is the way he would have wanted things.

I was so blessed to grow up a few miles from my grandparents and saw them on a weekly basis. They helped shape my life and my ideas of family.

The following are my remarks at his funeral as the family representative.

On behalf of my family, thank you for coming and joining with us to remember our husband, Dad and Papa. I am the oldest grandchild and want to share with you some of the things that made Papa, Papa. For example, no one could sneeze as loudly as Papa. I think every grandchild went through the same experience as an infant of being startled to tears at the sound of a Papa sneeze. Along with the loudest sneeze, Papa had the strongest handshake -that is strong with a hint of pain. He used to say he hated a wimpy handshake. No one would ever say that about Papa. One thing people would say was that Papa was a wonderful conversationalist - as long as the conversation was about his house and consisted of him talking to you and you nodding your head and asking an occasional question. Papa was very proud of his house, as he should have been. How many people can say they have built their own house, built the concrete mixer to mix the concrete to make the foundation, cut down trees to build the cabinets and woodwork, and dug rocks from the creek bed for the fireplace. That house IS Papa - the quirky way he liked to design things, his love of wood and open rooms for his family to gather. He loved his family and so enjoyed the little kids. He had this funny sound he would make as he would poke at a ticklish little tummy. He did it just a month ago to my little boy. He was dependable and loyal and saved many a friend and family member a good bit of money by helping them with a car problem. Everyone knows Papa could fix and build anything. I attended this church as a child and remember many Sunday mornings in which Papa was called up here before the service to fix the heat. I remember feeling proud standing by him wondering if everybody knew it was because of my Papa that they were warm. He loved to fix things so much we sometimes thought he built or designed things so they would break and he could work on them. Like the go-kart he built my brother complete with a track he created beside the house. That go-kart seemed to break every fifth lap and Papa would eargerly get his tools and fix it. Papa was too smart to have built something that unreliable except for on purpose. His hands were always dirty no matter how much he washed them and it seemed like one of his fingernails was always black. He smelled like wood and grease and as much as Grandma tried to keep nice clothes for him, he always had a grease stain somewhere. He wasn't always as careful as we would have liked, like the time Grandma heard a crash and went outside to see Papa crawling out from under the backhoe that he had flipped off the embankment by the house. As a child they were just Grandma and Papa - they went together. I didn't think about them as a couple until I was in high school and Grandma got sick with an ear problem that wold cause sudden dizziness and nausea. We were eating at the dining room table and without a word Papa got up and led Grandma to the back bedroom and took care of her. We hadn't even realized she wasn't feeling well but he knew without her even saying anything. That was a new side of Papa I had never seen before and added a layer to my understanding of him. Then, seeing him cry when my brother, Brian, died. I had never seen Papa cry. Papa was a rock. His faith was a timpani - not a loud cymbal or blaring trumpet. He quietly and faithfully attended church and served behind the scenes. He was firm in his beliefs. He was faithful to his family. We will miss him more than we even know.