Date: Monday, November 8, 1999
Cheryl's Letter with Poem attached
Dear family and friends, this has sure been a long
week, but it is finally over and it's time for us to
get back to a daily routine. We have been blessed with
the out pouring of love from so many people. And it
has been great to be surrounded by a loving family who
are all struggling with the same questions and
offering comfort to all. I love you guys. Thank you.
I have had many requests for a copy of the words
and poem I shared during grandpa's memorial service
and so here it is. God bless you all and goodnight.
For those of you who don't know who I am, my name
is Cheryl Ballek I am the daughter of Rick and Donna
Northup, and Vyron was my Grandpa. Of all the
grandkids, it is possible that I knew Grandpa the
best. I grew up just down the road from his house and
spent a great deal of time out in his feilds. I was
Grandpa's "hired man". He often teased me for my
gender. I felt I was constantly trying to prove that I
could work just as hard as any boy my age. I would run
beside the tractor swinging bails up on the trailer
and jump up to set the bails and straiten the load.
Then I would jump back down and run off to find more
bails.
One time the bails were twise as heavy because
they had to be bailed wet. Even though we only had
about a half a load I was plumb worn out by the time
we were done. Grandpa told me to stay on the bails and
wait for him to go get something from the house. He
grabbed his camera and took a picture of me sitting on
the tiny load too tired to move.
Some of you had a hard time getting to know
grandpa. He was a stubborn man and felt he always knew
the best way to get the job done. Most of you probly
figured out that your way worked better for you and so
you fought him and his meathods. But you see I knew
that I didn't know andy other way and so his way
suited me just fine. These last days with Grandpa have
been difficult ones. It's been a time for each of us
to speak to grandpa from our heart. To say we're sorry
for not spending more time with him, or for harboring
bad feelings toward him. A time to express our regrets
and to tell him we love him. A time to say goodbye.
Some of us were blessed enough to have stood by
his bed and held his hand and felt him squeezing back
not willing to let go. He couldn't speak or nod his
head or even look us in the eye. But I believe he was
speaking to us. And I beleive if he had the
opportunity he would have took each of your hands and
wispered those same words that you have so desperatly
wanted to say to him. I'm sorry. I love you. Goodbye.
