I was born of extremely good parents. Oh, I know that there are many that would say similarly. But I really was! In developing this tribute, I’ll endeavor to tell you of just a few of the things that establish how really good these individuals were; and how their goodness has contributed to my life. For I truly have inherited a great deal from each of these individuals and from their combined contributions to me! One might think I am being sentimental in my aging years; but I assure them - they are wrong. I am well aware of my parent’s imperfections. But when compared against the ‘yardstick’ of perfection; do we not all fall far short! No, I do not choose to make foolish, ‘mountainous’ comments regarding their ‘mole hills’ of imperfections. Knowing each of these individuals well; they’d be the first to accentuate their imperfections at the expense of their lifelong contributions to those that they’ve loved and served (even when difficult and challenging). Their lives were filled with devotion to the good they naturally seemed to espouse and deliver freely each and every day!

My Mother

Allow me first to portray just some of the things my mother did without fanfare nor recognition. Rather, she did these things as they sprung naturally from her heart as she sojourned the travails of her mortal path here below. She would have kept these difficulties from a listener, lest they influence the listener ‘too much’. But thankfully, she shared some of these things with me; and I have lived long enough to recognize the great benefits with which this woman blessed me, my father, my siblings, her parents, her siblings, the many, many extended family members, and still others! Please remember these recorded experiences are only a small representation of the many, many contributions my mother automatically bequeathed amongst those she served – which was everyone!

• As a young woman having just begun to surface from the dark, depression years that threatened the very existence of the family she’d been born to; she contracted Rheumatic Fever. During her otherwise treasured years as a beautiful developing girl; she’d have needed to stay in bed for a solid year of her youth. There were no ‘miracle’ drugs in those days; and she rested from her nightly feverish bouts of disease and discomfort. She explained that her mother required her to stand in a large washbasin each morning, so that grandma could pour cleansing water over mom’s head to wash the perspiration that had clung and soaked her bed sheets throughout the night. Changing the bed linen, my mother would then take her place in the bed for another day of fever and difficulty. This routine carried on for a year until her body began to recover. She was extremely thin (from the Rheumatic Fever) even later when my father met her.
• As the youngest child in her family, she’d watched as depravation took its toll on her parents and older siblings. She explained to me once that her father had brought home a hide to cook and render because it was the only thing they had to eat. Her favorite game as a young girl was when neighborhood children would gather at the vacant lot; contributing a carrot here and a potato there; a small piece of meat or an onion. They’d cut it into a common pot; supply water and build a fire beneath to cook the contents. They’d then play games like hide-n-seek, or kick the can. After several hours of play they’d then gather around the pot and receive a portion of the ‘mulligan’ stew they’d cooked. As she told me this, I could see her eyes and hear in her voice how she’d found solace amidst the struggle to simply eat during depressed years.
• My mother once told me of how an older gentleman of their ward (on Stevens Blvd) had blessed her and given her the name of Arvona Erma Ford. She explained to me that she’d been named after a railroad spur near her home called Evona. She even pointed its sign out to me once as we drove in west of Ogden near the railroad lines. Though her mother was not a member of the church and her father was completely inactive; the man had blessed mom that she would be married in the Temple of our Lord. Later as a young sailor began to pursue her seriously, she explained to him that “she was going to be married in the Temple”. This was a surprise, because she was not a member of the church; though she’d attended at times during her youth. The young sailor lost all interest thereafter. As a young woman embracing her womanhood and preparations for adulthood, she’d been seeing my father for a number of months. My grandfather (Dad’s dad) would almost always walk her home from their house whenever she visited them. This was a distance of a few miles and it exemplifies what a gentleman my grandfather was. After dating for several months while my father was training to be an Army Air Corp pilot, my mother’s mother called my Dad who was learning to fly C-47’s in Nebraska. Inasmuch as the relationship had waned ‘a bit’ while training in Nebraska, my grandma Ford warned my father that if he was serious about ‘this girl” (i.e. my mother); he’d better get back to Ogden and make his intentions clear. Otherwise, she might take up with someone else. (Apparently my Grandma Ford liked my father as a potential companion for her daughter.) Well, my father took her mother’s advice; and resumed his pursuit of Arvona. While all of this romancing was taking place, my mother had taken it upon herself to respond to her brother George’s recent conversion to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. As she investigated the church for herself, she became converted to its teachings and was baptized less than a year prior to her marriage to my father. Dad came from a devoted LDS family; and was therefore raised with a strong understanding of gospel ideals. Following her acceptance of Dad’s proposal, they prepared for eternal marriage. Inasmuch as mom had not been a member for a full year prior to their anticipated marriage; they had to obtain special permission from the first presidency to proceed with their plans. With her parents unable to participate in my parent’s Temple ceremony; Mom and Dad were sealed in the Logan Temple. Contrary to observer’s potential projections, my mother WAS married in the temple – just as she’d been blessed almost twenty years earlier. The events coupled with her righteous desires brought about our eternal unification of Father, Mother and Children!
• Mom’s life was not to languish. Following her marriage to Donald Davis, she would have to wait several years inasmuch as he’d been deployed as a pilot in the Army Air Corp (predecessor of the United States Airforce) in the European Theater. Their marriage had taken place during one of his furloughs. Thus, he returned to war; and she remained with her parents as she prayed and hoped for his well-being whilst at war. (Such couldn’t have been easy for a young bride to risk a union with he who may not return from war!) After the war, this young war bride continued to wait until he could qualify for return. One of the distinct and memorable parts of their early life together took place as my father endeavored to return. Though he’d taken a ship across the Atlantic, he found himself far from Ogden. As days passed, he was able to make his way to Denver, Colorado. Inasmuch as Christmas was only days away, he and a couple of travelling servicemen contracted to have a taxi cab drive them from Denver to the Salt Lake Valley on the day prior to Christmas. Their endeavor proceeded until they recognized that two of the fellows would need to proceed to communities more northward in Utah and southern Idaho. So they directed their driver to take a route that took them through the town of Morgan (near Weber canyon). They determined that they’d need to take a route that took them through Huntsville and would not be able to complete the last few miles for my father’s arrival in Ogden. Thus, they ‘dropped’ him off at an intersection between the highway (now the W. Old Hwy Rd.) and the road to Huntsville (now the Trappers Loop Rd.[187]). There under a lonely intersection streetlight, my father stepped from the cab so his companions could soujorn to their homes northward. It was snowing lightly and my Army Leutenant father stood shivering in his uniform as he hoped to ‘catch’ a lift to Ogden a few miles down Weber Canyon and his still new, young bride! As one might imagine, there was very little traffic along the highway on Christmas Eve. Finally, after shivering for a while, my father decided to walk (carrying his duffle bag) along the highway toward Morgan. In those days, there was very, very little where he was. Leaving the illumination of the intersection light, he walked through the dark until he encountered a lone diner. There, he telephoned my mother! With her brother George, she drove up Weber Canyon on Christmas Eve to reunite with her husband amidst the solitude of drifting snowfall in an isolated Morgan Valley. This would be a reunion to remember; and an unforgettable experience for both newlyweds (having but two weeks together at their marriage years earlier). A 62-year marriage was to resume after a very long separation following their quick Eternal union.

• My mother’s life was not to be an easy one. Still recovering from a weakened heart; resulting from an extensive internment wrestling with Rheumatic Fever, she was to quickly become pregnant following Dad’s return to civilian life. Unfortunately, that pregnancy (her first) was to terminate with a premature birth and death. This would undoubtedly trouble a young woman; and she distressed over its occurrence until she became pregnant again in 1947. In February of 1948 she would give her first live birth to my elder brother, Hugh. Just two years later, she would complete her second pregnancy with the birth of twin sons in April 1950. (The second baby was an absolute surprise. She learned at the conclusion of my birth from her doctor that ‘there was a second’ baby. This would be their first understanding of their twin son’s entrance to life.) Just eighteen months thereafter, she’d give birth to my younger brother, Rick, in November of 1951. Thus, in a matter of 4+ years she had gone from the carefree life of a sole person to that of a wife and mother of 4 babes – a significant, and demanding development! Such a resilient responsibility is best portrayed in recognizing there was no such thing as disposable diapers in those days. Care for babies was conducted in cleaning, washing and diapering with cloth diapers! With responsibility and devotion placed squarely upon her shoulders; she daily cared for and nurtured four (eventually to become 6) children and all the challenges involved. I was told repeatedly that while diapering us twins, she’d elicit the help of Hugh (her two-year-old) to place his hands atop one of his baby brothers; and hold him to assure he did not roll off the changing table while she focused on the other being changed. Thus were the hourly challenges that dominated this young woman’s unanticipated responsibility – and daily burdens.
• Caring for, nurturing and leading a young family in Washington Terrace, Verdeland Park, and Cherry hill overfilled each and every day of this frail young woman’s existence. Nevertheless, she endured valiantly until bankruptcy robbed her of her needed homestead; and she moved with her brood to a home in Sunset, Utah. She would their continue with her offices of wife and mother to a now advancing gang of teenage ‘hooligans’. Though we were not bad children; we were nevertheless active and involved teenagers. There was undoubtedly to be adventure and excitement in daily administration of a 6-ring circus! In addition to this upheaval, our family was to experience serious financial difficulty. Dad had lost election to continue as Davis County Surveyor and had to acquire employment to provided sustenance for a growing large family. Mom would somehow have to ‘make do’ with whatever was available. I remember spending over a year receiving welfare assistance from the church. I remember a Christmas where there was absolutely nothing on Christmas morning; and I remember agonizing over the disappointment my mother and father were enduring at not having anything to give their children on such a celebratory day! Fortunately, my father had clandestinely built a ping pong table from wood and we installed it in our family room that afternoon. I remember playing ping pong with him throughout the remainder of that Christmas; and recognize it as one of my most memorable, cherished Christmas days. I learned even more that day that I loved and revered the valiancy of my father as we traded volleys amidst struggle. My mother’s valiancy was always on display! Months later, my mother was to endure even deeper dismay as her mother took her last breaths laying across mom’s lap. Having cared for her amidst her failing health in our home the preceding week, we children were informed one morning that our grandmother had passed the night before. Learning that she had requested her ‘work’ to be done with her last statement; I’m confident that my mother took solace that her mother had accepted the Gospel and Church at last. Her son, George, had her proxy baptism performed a few months later. Mom had waited a long time to hear her mother consent to membership in God’s kingdom – even though it was to commence in the spirit world.
• As my father obtained work for Boeing at Hill Airforce Base, our family was able to slowly emerge from a rather dark place toward a brighter future. Unfortunately, my father was directed to become an inspector of Minuteman missile silos as they were being constructed in North Dakota. Hence, he was required to be on-site daily and would have to relocate himself to Minot, North Dakota. He worked a ‘deal’ wherein he could fly home weekly to visit ~2 days before flying back and resuming his week’s work. In the midst of this upheaval, it became necessary that we relocate from Sunset to a home on Birch Street in Clearfield. Hence, we boys (by now unofficial ‘junior movers’) consolidated our belongings and set up home at the rental on Birch Street. It was an older, smaller home and we ‘squeezed’ into its accommodations. To give perspective, Hugh was a senior and Jay and I were sophomores as Clearfield High School. It was common during that time; that we’d gather Dad at the Salt Lake airport upon his arrival home late Friday. Days later, we’d rush him to catch his return flight with Frontier Airlines. (I still remember rushing around the road at the northern border of the airport; and seeing Dad’s flight boarding on the tarmac. It seemed we were always concerned that somehow, he might miss his flight.) We’d then resume our weekday routine of school and homework. We were always thrilled to reunite with Dad; and likewise sorry to see him leave. But those were the circumstances of our lives at that time. So, my mother shouldered the full burden of a single (on-site) parent at that time. Administrating the affairs of four growing, active teenage boys (all by now taller than Mom) and two younger growing siblings was no small task. Nevertheless, she accomplished the task with a perfect combination of firmness and sensitivity – a reference to her and her gender! It was during one of these visits home that Hugh decided he would exercise his independence and announce that he was moving out. Unnerved by this announcement, I cowered in my bedroom with Rick as we witnessed the elevated voices of my Father and elder brother as they argued the folly of Hugh’s intent to move elsewhere. It was one of the most agonizing disagreements I ever witnessed during my entire life!
• Inasmuch as we’d completed our school year, Jay and I both obtained a position as ride operators at Lagoon Amusement Park in Farmington, Utah. Unfortunately, Jay experienced severe abdominal pain a day later and was diagnosed with acute abdominal pain - undergoing an emergency appendectomy. I remember visiting him the day following his surgery and causing him laughter; which invoked pain at his incision. Following several attempts by my mother to have me cease my jocularity; I was ejected from Jay’s room. Inasmuch as we were both to report for work about 2 days later, my mother was concerned about Jay’s incision and weakened stomach muscles. She informed both of us to inform our supervisor that he was to assign Jay a duty commensurate with his recent surgery and incision. To our dismay, Jay was assigned to a ride where the patron was pushed and pulled to start their oscillation in a screened cage that responded to their shifts in weight. Mom was very concerned that Jay would strain his incision that had taken place but days earlier – and rightfully so! Jay was careful despite his exposure to strain; and he recovered quickly. Both he and I would drive daily to Farmington; working at Lagoon throughout that summer. Along with raising a gaggle of offspring, she’d weekly engage with her husband who supported her from states away!
• As fall drew near and recommencement of school approached, we children were informed that my father’s tenure in North Dakota had ended; and he would be relocated to Conrad, Montana. Such a move did not lend itself well to weekly visits and our family would be relocating to Great Falls, Montana. Such was a discomforting proposal inasmuch as none of us had ever been beyond the reach of Davis County. Such a drastic move was fraught with anxiety for all concerned. Nevertheless, we junior movers loaded the U-Haul truck and set out for Great Falls about two weeks following school’s regular beginning. Upon arrival in Great Falls, all children were enrolled in their schools; and mom set up home in a rental we’d acquired upon arrival. We ended up moving to a more comfortable home after several months in Montana’s cold. It was during our ~1 year stay in Montana that my mother engaged her faith more seriously than previously. She was now separated from the culture that had been prevalent throughout her life; and some of us watched as my mother’s personal faith and commitment were tried and proven. Her devotion to the church, its doctrine, and gospel found foundational purchase within her soul; and she developed marvelously during that year. I remember walking home in cold, snowy weather to hot chocolate and freshly baked cinnamon rolls; accompany my mother’s delightful conversation with her sons at her kitchen table following a day at school. Despite her own difficulties, she was always a delight to talk with!
• Following a difficult and challenging two weeks endeavoring to find a place to rent in the Seattle area, we were led to a home on Harvey Road in Auburn, Washington. Living there for about 3 months; circumstances arose where we’d have to move. Church acquaintances assisted us and we ended up in a remote place of Lake Tapps (a community just outside Auburn). Living in a ramshackle home with inadequate heat, inadequate water and inadequate space; my mother endeavored to bolster the spirits of her children (Hugh was in New York on his mission) as we endured the difficulties of life there. Foremost in my mind is the silence that my mother endured as she encouraged her children. While we would enjoy the warmth and comfort of school classrooms, busses and church chapels; my mother would endure the cold and loneliness that were hers as she silently, patiently endured the discomforts of a remote dwelling in a remote forest in a distant land. I especially remembering her meeting us (her older sons) at the bus stop well down the road from our home. She’d broken up the tedium and boredom of her day with a homeward afternoon walk with her sons (a treasured experience with a noble lady). My mother had suffered with extremely poor dental health throughout her life; and it seemed to culminate just weeks later as she suffered the removal of all her teeth anticipating false teeth. I remember assuring there was sufficient wood to heat the home as she recovered from such extensive dental repair. She never complained; and endured her mortal discomforts valiantly. She was a treasured companion for this unappreciative son; and I’ll be forever grateful for her modest, understated leadership.
• Inasmuch as I was in England during the next two years; I can say little regarding my personal witness of my mother’s contributions to those surrounding her. Nevertheless, I can say that her letters were most appreciated and welcomed during my missionary sojourn.
• Following my return to my parent’s apartment in Everett, Washington; I watched closely as my mother continued to embrace the Gospel of Jesus Christ even more closely. She strongly admonished that I attend an award ceremony at Everett Community College for those students that had received recognition on the Dean’s List. At her request, we attended together and I remember being most pleased as I received my award. The award meant little to me; and I’d not have attended without her admonishment. Rather, what meant most to me was the look of pride that shone in my mother’s eyes; as I returned to my seat next to hers. As circumstances arose, my father was called to a position of employment in Salt Lake City and the family relocated to Layton, Utah. Inasmuch as I’d been blessed with education and employment, I determined that I’d remain in Everett until the end of that school year. Having obtained a room in my Elder’s Quorum President’s home; I bid my family goodbye as they bid me farewell from their station wagon. I remember the tears and forlorn look on her face as she sorrowfully bid me farewell. Standing there in the parking lot where they’d lived, I watched as their vehicle slowly drove away. I was sorry for the unhappiness I’d brought my mother!
• Shortly following my parent’s departure, I completed my second year of college and commenced to work for 7-Eleven for 12 hours per day and 7 days per week. I was endeavoring to save enough to engage my third year at BYU in the fall. Unfortunately, my landlord’s child had recently undergone surgery and preceded every sleep with about 3 hours of wailing. Such a howl would not have been so serious except it took place amidst the hours I was to be sleeping. Thus, following a couple of weeks of such interrupted sleep; I contracted Mononucleosis and was directed to return home and get rest. As the disease continued; it was accompanied by a serious Step Throat infection. It took me the better part of a month to begin recuperation; and I remember the freedom of my first day unencumbered by illness. Upon relocating to an apartment on Stadium Way in Provo; and completing several weeks of instruction; I received a phone call one evening. It was my mother; and I immediately realized I’d never contacted her throughout the summer and my relocation to BYU. She’d called to simply ascertain if her son were well. I was sorely chagrined that my own mother had needed to contact her son regarding his well-being. I silently recognized the severe disregard I’d shown my dear mother; and resolved to never allow such neglect to occur again. I never did; and called her at least weekly thereafter. I’d been a bad son and was painfully aware of my selfishness in the brilliant light of my dear mother!
• At an episode that would befall our family, my mother’s devotion was again reiterated. Following a difficulty that transpired in Hugh and Karen’s family, the eldest son Jeff was bade to live with Mom and Dad. Inasmuch as I called almost daily to commiserate with mom regarding my failed marriage; I was well aware of Jeff’s dwelling with his grandparents. Though Jeff’s privacy was always protected in conversations with mom; I nevertheless grew to comprehend the great regard she had for her grandchildren. Furthermore, mom had expressed the great love she had for Jeff and the challenges he was enduring as a young man. Though Jeff’s sometimes abrasive nature occasionally conflicted with mom’s manner; she never abandoned nor withheld her devotion to her grandchildren – including Jeff.
• During their waning years, it became evident that mom had a great deal to do with how well Dad was cared for. She’d oversee his health and the continuation of his surveying endeavors – even to the point of being his ‘crew’ when no one else was available. Mom would be his helpmeet throughout his entire life. I remember a time when Mom went behind Dad’s back to declutter a driveway shed of meaningless ‘treasures’ hoarded by Dad. She engaged me as an accomplice who’d assist her in her clandestine plan. During a visit, I was to assist her as we rummaged a shed. I agreed to assist as long as we both agreed that an item be discarded. In an effort to clearly reveal my mother’s plans; I said, “Let me see if I have this right? You want me to enter into an unholy conspiracy to disregard my own father’s will and discard some of his things?” To this, she simply said, “Yes”. Upon completion, we re-padlocked the shed and it was never touched again. My mother took care of my dad; sometimes despite his foolish wishes! I’ll always be grateful at how my mom cared for her husband and my father during his aging years!
• Even as mom’s health faded and she took up residence on their couch; she continued to engage whomever she could to obtain service and support from agencies I never even knew existed. It always used to amaze me at how much she could get accomplished from her place on the sofa. She continued even beyond health to obtain and garner assistance available via the telephone - that seldom went ignored. She was genuinely resourceful. I once facetiously chided my mother that she’d need to treat me with more respect now that I’d graduated with a Master’s degree. She immediately retorted that she’d forgotten more than I’d ever know. I always considered what an accurate and dismissive retort she’d delivered.
• Inasmuch as Jay’s passing was a severe shock to all; it was an even grimmer announcement to my mother and father. They’d known of his health challenges; but had never anticipated such devastating news. As we all staggered with loss, I was called upon to deliver a eulogy at Jay’s funeral. It was not hard to recall such happy times with Jay; despite sorrows accompanying such memories. My mother, who’d taken the news rather woefully; arrived in a wheelchair pushed by my father. In the viewing immediately preceding his funeral; my father had kissed his finger and pressed it against Jay’s cold cheek. Knowing of Dad’s cataplexy and tendency to lose muscle control triggered by strong emotion; I watched reverently as he bade farewell to his beloved son. Few of the many observers knew of the struggle Dad endured that moment of his life as he struggled to bid farewell to one so loved. It was a moment I’ll not soon forget! As I tearfully presented his eulogy, I was cognizant of my mother’s feeble health and emotional trauma at the loss of her son. Though wheeled from the funeral, I would soon learn that she’d neared death in the women’s restroom following the funeral; and where her daughter Tammy watched over her. The loss had nearly triggered her own demise; and I’d again be reminded of my mother’s utter devotion to her children!

• Following Jay’s funeral, I stayed at my parent’s home in hopes that I might console and assist where possible. I knew that his untimely passing had been most difficult on both of them. I foolishly hoped that the nearness of their other twin son might comfort and soothe the ache and sorrow of their souls. I felt painfully inadequate and foolishly naïve that MY efforts would somehow assuage the enormous loss born by his parents as their beloved child freshly occupied his final resting place. Nevertheless, I endeavored despite my inadequacies. As the time drew near that I’d have to return home to Southern California; I knew that it’d be unlikely that I’d ever see my mother again alive in this lifetime. So, I determined that I’d venture to tell her what she meant to me. Shortly before my departure, I approached my mother who was lying feebly in her bed. Kneeling at her bedside, I told my mother that I deeply loved her. I thanked her with all my heart that she had given me life! I thanked her that not only had she given me life; but she had preserved it during the years I’d leaned so heavily on her and my father for emotional and spiritual support. I told her that I was struggling to find the words that would convey the depth of my love for her. Prompted by a certainty that I’d not see her again alive; I told her that I found it an extreme privilege to be her son! Expressing my intense love; expecting it would be my last (A recognition that brought tears to this son’s eyes.) I slowly concluded my declaration. Finally, I asked if she, my mother, would do me one final favor. (Here was this healthy son asking a favor of his feeble, bedridden mother prior to his departure.) In her customary, devoted way; she responded with- “I will if I can!” To this valiant response I tearfully gulped- “Will you tell my brother that I love him, when you see him?”  I doubt if I’ll ever express a more devoted love to my mother or brother than I did that day! I am still moved as I contemplate that moment. She responded that she would and I excused myself to leave. She would die a few days later; and I realized that I’d been blessed to express my devout love for my brother through the veil by my even more devoted mother! I am genuinely blessed.

Though these are only a few of her sacrifices enjoined throughout her mortal sojourn, I believe them to be reflective of this genuinely righteous woman endeavoring to traverse her mortality with an absolute minimum of worldly stain. I recognize that God does not measure human accomplishment on a curve. Rather, all humanity will be measured aside the ‘yardstick’ of perfection and all found wanting. Nevertheless, Jesus Christ is merciful to all that follow him; and I can witness that my mother endeavored throughout the entirety of her life to follow Christ and his righteousness – even when she was unsure of doctrine nor authorized truth. The following story reflects well on her endeavors to present an unblemished life to whomever would require it of her hereafter. She was and is a divine blessing to me that shall not be tarnished now nor blemished hereafter. Her many, many acts of righteousness outweigh any shortcomings she may have thought significant.

Mom was endeavoring to perfect her life!

In the latter year of my mother's life, I happened to be sitting near her feet on the sofa where she was lying. She'd been struck with Interstitial Lungs Disease and was pretty much incapacitated at that time. Most of her time was spent lying on the sofa endeavoring to care for herself and my father, during the last months of her life. I'd not been at their home for many days when I was involved in a short conversation with my mother where she expressed that she'd been endeavoring to rectify her life as she prepared for its inevitable end! Consequently, I was taken by the drama that was evident in her voice. Endeavoring to lighten our exchange, and minimize the drama evident in her voice; I engaged my mother in a short dialogue. She said she'd been trying to 'correct’ some of the things that might have happened in her early years! Trying to make sure that I did not violate her privacy, I hesitantly asked, “Just what are we talking about here, Mom? And more to the point, what age are we talking about? Was it long ago or relatively recently?” To this she replied (evidently, she thought I really didn't understand) that she had been a real “stinker” to her parents when she was very young. Recognizing that parents commonly endured the antics of their youthful children, I thought that her concern was somewhat overblown. Believing her statement of being concerned about her behavior when she was very young; I asked her how young she was as she thought about these things. She said, “about five or six”. I said, “Mom, you weren't even accountable prior to the age of eight”. To this she seemed to almost ignore my comment and continue her efforts to resolve any anxieties she might feel about her behavior (at what I'd call a very young age)! I suppose I treated her heartfelt concern over what I considered ‘minutia’ - with a measure of disregard.  And I simply said, “I wish I had your problem, Mom”.  Not fully realizing the significance of her concern, I chalked her ‘efforts’ up to the regrets of an aging woman. However, as I returned to my home, I couldn't shake her comments from my mind.

I realized she was quite seriously endeavoring to “cleanse her soul” as the demise of her mortal experience drew close. She was somewhat concerned that she'd meet her parents on the other side of death; and need to resolve her behavior as a young girl of five or six. Upon further reflection I realized that my mother was performing the mental, spiritual and emotional work that she felt she needed to do in preparation for her death! She was endeavoring (as best she could) to perfect her life so it could be presented as a pure and unblemished life for anyone to observe. I love my mother and thank her for the wisdom that she imparted to me - a foolish son! 

My Father

Once again, allow me first to portray just some of the things my father did with little to no recognition nor credit. Rather, he did these things as they emerged without prompting from a heart dedicated to righteousness and truth wherever his mortal sojourn took him. Amidst the labors and struggles of his mortal visit he would avoid aggrandizement and minimize worries and complications lest they be misinterpreted as motivated by recognition. He often found succor in the shadows of achievement where others may have gladly prided themselves in the praise heaped upon them by foolish, worldly knaves. Thankfully, he imparted honor and integrity without elaboration to his sons and daughter. His uprightness shone through the dark mists of deception and arrogance. We, his children, would draw upon such exposure as encountered both amidst the worldly wickedness we’d have to endure. Imbued with his light, we discerned each; and chose the better part based upon our unspoken perception of him and his righteousness. I have now lived long enough to appreciate some of the lifelong contributions he made to me and my siblings as we’ve accompanied his life - as if through ‘a glass darkly’. Though impaired in youth; he remained true to the honor his father had taught him and that he freely imparted to his own offspring. He was a blessing to all those that were privileged to accompany him along his path.

• My father began his life under a cloud of difficulty. As a baby, he contracted Polio (a genuine risk and extreme fear prior to the Salk vaccine). My grandmother said she remembered him screaming in his crib repeatedly for hours as the disease invaded his tiny foot forming deformed bones and altered bulges in the formations of his right foot. Thankfully, I suppose, the disease limited itself to his right foot; and he would learn to walk and run on that foot. I remember seeing the deformities easily observed in his bare foot. Despite an extremely painful introduction to life, my father learned to navigate with that deformity such that very few knew of the struggle that had dominated his early life. (In his shoe no one would suspect a thing. Such was the resilience of my unassuming father!) Undoubtedly, extensive and prolonged pain would have influenced his psyche and resulting attitudes toward life. But this stout, determined child merely hid the deformities that colored his infancy!
• Donald had been born the second son with an older brother (Hugh) and sister (Arlene). He idolized his accomplished and athletic brother (a mere 2 years older) and chummed around with Hugh who graciously watched over and befriended his younger (timid) brother. Amidst a historical excursion to Idaho Falls; we searched out the home when dad had lived. As we passed an extensive park, my father explained that there had been a sizable pond there once and that his brother Hugh could swim across it. His brother was active, involved and outgoing; shielding his timid younger brother from the limelight that shone so brightly on his elder brother Hugh - of which he was so proud! Unfortunately, Hugh was to receive a cut as someone swung a garden hoe in his yard. It was an apparent gash near an eye and he was eventually admitted to the nearby Idaho Falls hospital to receive needed treatment. The wound had become septic and worrisome to parents and medical professionals alike. Sepsis remains a life-threatening condition to this day. In his day, the miracle drugs we take for granted now were unavailable. Grandpa John Leonard Davis visited his son each day as he walked home from work. My father related the following as the details of the event were unfolded to me as we paused outside his prior home. He said he remembered his father (as he watched from inside the front window) turning up the entrance walkway from the street sidewalk he’d been traveling. He remembered seeing his father stooped, labored and glumly sorrowful as he solemnly strode the short distance to their front door. Once inside the door, he remembered his father’s face as drawn and contorted with sadness as his wife (my grandma Mary) entered the room to greet her husband. As she approached him still in overcoat; he reported the sad news that “We’ve lost our son, dear.” With that - strong, stalwart grandma – collapsed into his arms as they both wept with genuinely broken hearts at the loss of their beloved eldest son. My father’s voice quivered as he related these moments in our car decades later. I could perceive that I was being admitted to a tender and sacred place within his heart; and the understanding of a historical event that had shattered his parents, siblings and others. For a moment, I was transported to observe the devastating, shocking news that Donald had experienced as his treasured, idyllic brother had left life unanticipated. It would be an event that would color my father’s life until he himself died. He once said that he had never felt entirely adequate to be the eldest son; yet his station and circumstance had been thrust upon him in a matter of moments. Donald revered his brother such that he named his own eldest son Hugh as homage to his own dear brother!
• As the depression occurred, the demands of a growing, large family became truly desperate. Though my father’s parents and family were effective and efficient as they applied themselves to the growing needs of providing food, shelter and clothing; depressive forces invaded their finances. My father once told me of how he and a brother slept in a double bed outside on the porch of his home; and how they awoke to find snow atop their covers during winter. Knowing my grandparents as I did, I’m fully confident that the entire family exercised every effort to accommodate the needs of every individual. Nevertheless, depressed financial circumstances prevailed and it was decided that someone would need to stay on his brother’s farm in Blackfoot, Idaho. My father, being the eldest living son, was selected to be indentured to live in his Uncle Dewey’s farmhouse and assist daily with the duties of caring for a farm. In turn, Donald would be provided with food, shelter and clothing. Considering the experiences that penetrated this unassuming 15-year-old boy; one can comprehend how he might’ve felt ejected from his family’s breast and abandoned to the less-intimate, more detached acknowledgment of a distant uncle! He would feel (though invoked by need) ostracized by his own family as physical need overrode spiritual, emotional precedence. Amidst our excursion, Dad revealed that his teenage cousin had denigrated him and further shunned him from inclusion in high school circles. She, being shallow and prideful, had snubbed him as a ‘charity figure’ her father had invited to their home. Such cold-shouldered exclusion drove an already severe emotional dagger even still deeper; as Dad endeavored to endure the social, emotional and spiritual disdain imposed by his own female cousin of a similar age. Her contempt was to be a thorn in the psyche of the young man who was to become my father. This thorn had been imposed and present for so long that when we happened to observe his now much older cousin gathering her paper from her yard; I asked if he’d like to stop and visit for a moment with her. To this, my father replied that we should not. Because his response was so sharp and stilted; I deduced that the emotional wounds imposed so deeply, so unnecessarily, so viciously – had never healed. Years later I would observe my grandmother doting over her now matured son (over fresh raspberries – his favorite); and I discerned that she was endeavoring to convey her regret at his earlier removal. She was striving to convey her love for her son who had endured so much!
• At the time of the Pearl Harbor attack, my father was in his final year at Ogden High School; enrolled in the Reserve Officer’s Training Corps (ROTC). Inasmuch as he was near graduation and likely to be drafted, he decided to enlist in the relatively new Army Air Corps (which was the predecessor to the Airforce). His father (a fortunate veteran of the 1^st World War) was strictly opposed to Dad’s enlistment and resisted his course of action. Nevertheless, Dad thought choosing his military service outweighed potentially being drafted as an infantryman. Upon induction, Dad found himself stationed at Cal-Aero Academy for initial flight training. This facility would later become Chino Airport just a few miles from where I lived in Ontario, California. He would complete his initial training in a Stearman biplane and received his wings. He would later receive training in Nebraska to fly C-47 transport/cargo planes. It was during this time that he was dating my mother and would fly home to Ogden to see her. It was amidst one of his two-week furloughs that they’d prepared for and sealed their love in the Logan Temple. Shortly thereafter, he’d be back to his flight preparations and eventually fording a C-47 through a Greenland airport and on to England in the European Theater of WWII. He would leave his young bride of days and spend the next several years in the service of his country; freighting gas and supplies to support the allied drive to Berlin (following D-Day) and retrieving wounded to the medical facilities in England. He was a vital part of the war machine that overthrew Hitler and the Nazis. Following hostilities, he would administrate an airport until he’d earned enough points to return home. His personal contribution was not small; nevertheless, he would receive no fanfare for his quiet but dependable service.

• Upon returning from war, he resumed his work at Hill Airforce Base as a mechanic which he’d worked at for many years prior to war. Upon resumption, his years of previous service were allotted him and he resumed work. As he neared 20 years of service, he contemplated retirement and changing careers as he was still a young man. To his dismay and consternation, administrators betrayed him and he received no recognition nor benefit for the 20 years he’d served since youth. Undaunted, this man elicited assistance for the Davis County Surveyor (who was one of his neighborhood friends in Idaho Falls) and he commenced his career change despite the mistreatment he’d experienced.
• It was during his years at Hill Airforce Base that two significant events took place.
  • The first was the severance of his thumb. One day as he was ‘running up’ jet aircraft (as was his job) someone called out- “Look Out!” and he became aware of a falling canopy. Inasmuch as he didn’t want to get trapped in an uncertain cockpit; he scrambled to get clear of the slowly falling heavy canopy. To his dismay, he was able to clear his entire body except for his thumb. The canopy closed and completely severed his thumb at the knuckle. He immediately jammed his severed stub into the palm of his other hand and ran for emergency medical help. They could not reattach appendages in those days; and he arrived home with an enormously bandaged thumb to questions from wife and children regarding his well-being. He would learn to do a great many things with that thumb stub; and I remember watching him tie fishing knots with it. I often wondered how he achieved such dexterity with but a half thumb. Nevertheless, he did! He would do all he could to spare his wife and children any trauma invoked by his own loss of appendage.
  • Secondly, my father experienced the sighting of a UFO in broad daylight! One day amidst his ‘flight line’ duties, he happened to look up as he exited a cockpit down its ladder. Just then, he saw an object emerge from behind the main hangar’s roof. It was saucer-like shaped about as large as a football field. It made no noise and moved gradually across toward the runway. Just then, he pointed toward it and shouted “Look”. As he did, it moved (without banking, indicating it did not move on air as a wing might) immediately to hover over Francis Peak (and the radar domes there). By the time he’d moved his arm to point at Francis Peak, he observed it traversing rapidly down across HAFB, and soar (noiselessly, unbanked) upward out of sight above Mount Ogden. The entire experience lasted maybe 10 seconds. Now I knew that sceptics had not believed him (this trained pilot) and scorned his name. And at first, I wondered as to what my father had observed. But over the years; I’d been witness to his telling of the event maybe 5 times in 30+ years. Knowing that lying or deceiving lent itself almost unequivocally to embellishment; I had witnessed that my father’s relating of the event had not varied an iota. Thus, I believed and believe my father! My father knew the value of truth and never strayed from it. His integrity was impeccable! An aircraft at that time could not fly that fast!

UFO Flightpath

• Despite the many impediments and challenges that had dominated my father’s young life, he’d preserved his character and soul against circumstances that might’ve overwhelmed a less valiant being. I remember a story he shared with me as we stood together in Cedar City as we recorded his life. He had moved with his parent’s family from an unhappy Idaho Falls to a fresh start in Cedar City, Utah. They’d spent their first night in a home at the top of East Center Street; just short of Coal Creek (a bridge now crosses the creek). They’d arrived there on Saturday and was resting late the following Sunday morning. They did not feel it especially important that they introduce themselves to their new ward so soon. A few blocks away was a well-recognized ‘Rock Church’ where they would eventually attend regularly. Dad had recently been ordained a Deacon and took his responsibilities seriously. With all of his family sleeping and resting from a previous day’s work, this 12-year-old Deacon arose early; dressed himself to attend church; and set out to find the church where he would attend. Walking amongst the city blocks surrounding his home, he finally came upon the ‘rock church’. Unhesitant, he entered and introduced himself to attending members. He would soon ascertain his proper ward and attend with them that day! Unyielding, this young boy would venture individually to seek out and obtain refuge for his devout commitment to circumstances and beliefs that influenced his young soul for righteousness. I believe this story exemplifies the kind of young man he was in order to attract and seize the special heart of the woman he would soon marry. He was of a caliber that drew this young woman’s heart and lent his own unfettered heart to her - though they came from different sides ‘of the tracks’ in Ogden. Theirs was to be a significant and memorable sojourn together!
• Fatherhood occurred as rapidly to my father as it did to my mother. Within a short 6+ years following his experience in Europe, he found himself the father of four active baby boys! Just as the primary nurturing responsibility fell upon my mother; the primary responsibility to provide for a growing family fell upon my father. The challenges to provide food, shelter and clothing for a growing family would not subside and he raced to stay ahead of growing bodies needing larger clothes regularly. Hand-me-downs were common and without exception as younger boys capitalized on clothes grown out of by older brothers. Shoes were a continual need as they wore quickly; scuffed and worn in winter seasons. We learned to apply cardboard insoles to extend the life of shoes exhibiting holes. It seemed as though there were never enough hand-me-downs to satisfy the needs of younger brothers and they’d have to be supplemented from time to time with expensive discounted store-bought clothes. I know that my mother worried about providing for the needs of young, energetic, voracious appetites. She let it slip once that she was mildly intimidated from time to time as her 6’ teenage sons would clean the bowls of every large bowl of potatoes and vegetables with which she’d set the table; and want snacks shortly thereafter. Staying ‘ahead’ of the needs of a large family took everything he had until we began leaving home and meeting our own needs.
• Shortly following Dad’s imposed career change from Hill Field, he worked for and obtained his license as a Professional Surveyor. Obtaining responsibilities to provide surveying skills to various organizations; he determined that he’d train and ‘employ’ his sons as his ‘crew’. Thus, when he obtained the opportunity to survey for a large subdivision (Vae View) near Layton, we boys were enlisted to assist. I remember many a dust-filled, dry day spent throughout the establishment of Vae View. From empty fields punctuated by early morning whip-poor-wills to excavators, we spent months and months surveying roads, lots, curb, gutter and sewer lines. Hugh was trained to man the transit; Jay and I were instructed in the management of the measuring ‘chain’; and Rick would carry the stake bag with survey stakes, lathes, tape and sledgehammer. As time passed, we would provide assistance with other projects and at times shiver and sweat in inclement weather. The work grew tedious and wearisome as we obeyed our father’s directions without a true understanding of what was being accomplished. I always silently marveled at my father’s patience as other men would query regarding his boyish crew. Nevertheless, he endured with impetuous boys sometimes negating the patience he applied. It was extremely common that Hugh would be throwing rocks within seconds of halting the station wagon at a work site. Dad had a saying that he’d sometimes quip as other workers commented regarding his young crew – “One boy’s a boy; Two boy’s is half a boy; and Three boys is no boy at all!”
• Dad was true to his convictions during his years in Europe during WWII. Surrounded by those that had succumbed to a potential that they might not live; he remained true to the covenants he’d solemnly promised as he approached manhood. Immersed in an atmosphere of ‘live for today’, espoused by many embracing death’s seemingly inevitability; Dad maintained a strong commitment that life was much more than the debauchery that surrounded the inches separating his sacred being from those who would promote licentiousness as though accountability had been overthrown by the demons of war. Little did he realize that his grip on himself would become my inspiration to avoid the wickedness of future years hence. I’ll be forever grateful for his adherence to gospel virtues when confronted on all sides by cleverly presented temptations to abandon them!
• Shortley after returning from war and becoming the father of a growing brood of young boys, my father was called into the Bishopric in Layton, Utah. He’d conducted himself valiantly and had qualified spiritually to help lead a young ward in Verdeland Park. I remember in my 4’s and 5’s that Dad would not be readily available on Sunday afternoons due to priesthood responsibilities he’d received at the encouragement of God. Dad would fulfill those responsibilities despite significant family demands and growing personal maladies invoked by sleep disorders few (if any) knew. In his customary way, he’d carry on despite the heavy load he continued to carry – unrecognized by those surrounding this valiant young man!
• Embracing civilian life amidst the roller coaster ups and downs of challenge and achievements; Dad would be encumbered with the impediments of his own mortal being. Gradually, he would begin to experience bouts of uncontrolled ‘experiences’ while dozing in midday. As they occurred more frequently and with heightened intensity; we who knew referred to them as ‘spells’. We learned (from him) that he could be aroused from such uncontrollable experiences by wiping his face with a cool wet washcloth. Thus, we would listen to his day time naps for short bursts of exclaim or meaningless garble and apply a washcloth to his fevered sleep - in order to arouse him to consciousness. Such occurrences were troubling to realize that our father had ‘demons’ of his own that could not be confronted by ourselves – regardless of our desires to save him from such turbulent experiences. He told me of dreams he would experience amid such spells that would horrify anyone. Once he told me that he’d been covered by snakes and could not get them off of him. Such vivid dreams haunted the half consciousness that characterized his ‘spells’. Once as we drove from the University of Utah medical center where he’d gone for help, he announced that what we’d been calling ‘spells’ was actually invoked by a sleeping disorder entitled ‘Narcolepsy’. I’d recognized Dad’s Cataplexy during an event during our first months in Clearfield. We boys were up early one morning and jumping on the sofa. My father caught us and explained he’d have to spank us. He had us line up kneeling at the sofa. He took out his wide belt to scare us. He then began to swat the 1^st with a gentle ‘swat’ that sounded much worse than it felt. He then moved to the next and spanked with a much gentler ‘swat’. Peering behind me, I saw my father lose a bit of control of his lower jaw and his eyes were half closed as his head bobbed. By the time he got to the last of us, he couldn’t complete the effort. The intensity of the experience rendered him incapable of elevated emotion. Grateful to be exempted from a spanking, I nevertheless worried that my father would be alright. Later in life I was to learn that Cataplexy was a symptom of Narcolepsy. His ‘spells’ were Sleep Paralysis episodes that often-included vivid hallucinations. The muscle weakness triggered by strong emotions (such as laughter, surprise or anger) was a common symptom of Narcolepsy. Thus, I was to realize in my maturing years that my father had been suffering most of his life with a disorder unique to him and unfamiliar to most others. He would endure church attendance; falling ‘asleep’ with Narcolepsy while in a pew and have to tolerate others that would chide him for sleeping in Church. This occurred with such frequency that I occasionally explained their rudeness to unsuspecting chastisers. As his son, I had to come to fully realize that my father had endured all of his life while being ‘flogged like a dead horse’ by foolish and judgmental members who would not think themselves as critical of others! My father quietly endured the critical looks; the derogatory chides; the unspoken faultfinding of otherwise devout church goers.
• I would learn later in his life that he suffered from another sleep disorder entitled Sleep Apnea. I myself was diagnosed with this malady that renders one’s sleep ineffective. Though sleeping perhaps 8 hours, the malady would only allow perhaps an hour or so of genuine rest. Thus, without treatment, the patient would gradually degrade with a terrible ‘sleep debt’ that rendered them irritable and deprived of rest (a common torture). My father had been effectively tortured for much of his life as others misjudged him and considered him argumentative. I know this because I have experienced parallel difficulties! Sleep Apnea had only contributed further to his being ‘flogged like a dead horse’ despite his gargantuan efforts to endure his mortal encumbrances. I remember as a 13-year-old member of his survey ‘crew’; sitting one afternoon in our station wagon calculating angles. As he would calculate, I would write down his calculations. I was very mindful and witnessed that he struggled moment by moment to remain awake and clear headed to complete the task. His spirit genuinely struggled with tortuous fatigue as he drove his body forward! He was genuinely valiant though very few knew or even endeavored to understand.
• Dad liked fishing and we boys would accompany him from time to time if the circumstance was considered sufficiently safe. (We didn’t do much river fishing as young boys.) As we matured, Dad started developing a frequent fishing excursion for the entire family. Such would take place at Pineview Reservoir near Huntsville, Utah or at the East Canyon Reservoir near Morgan, Utah. Us boys had been afforded our own rods and reels (closed faced Zebcos) and thus lined the banks where we’d ply our skills and occasionally land a trout. I’m confident that Mom and Dad encouraged such recreation to occupy and solidify family comradery. And it worked. But not without patience! It seemed that Dad was constantly struggling to free one son’s line or another from a ‘snag’. He eventually gifted himself some waders to flee into deeper waters to escape young fisherman’s tangles and snarls. Nevertheless, though he’d distanced himself 5 or 6 feet offshore; if he were to catch a fish, he’d have to guard his ears against lures whizzing past his head; thrown by son’s assuring themselves that Dad had caught one of the last remaining trout; and that they’d need to cast where he did to increase their chances. Such was the patience he exemplified as our family enjoyed a Saturday afternoon; fishing on the banks of a reservoir.

Lieutenant Fishing in Europe

• As the financial difficulties mounted culminating in bankruptcy in Clearfield, the family relocated to Sunset and refreshed circumstances. However, with Dad’s unfortunate failure to be re-elected Davis County Surveyor; the family was once again subjected to insufficient finances and prolonged unemployment. Endeavoring to ‘make a living’; Dad engaged several opportunities that seemed promising – only to learn they were ‘dead ends). It was during our Sunset stay that our family subsisted on assistance provided by the churches Welfare Program. Our cupboards regularly contained foodstuffs labeled ‘Deseret’. (Welfare labeled food stuffs.) It was during this time that Christmas came and went with nothing. Such was the nature of our destitution; and I remember feeling much worse for my father than I did for myself. I would recover rapidly; but such a circumstance struck at the very soul of my father. He would be impaled on the bayonet of severe hardship encountered by his family at the feet of their provider for years to come.
• The years encompassing our relocation from Great Falls, Montana to Auburn, Washington; our subsequent relocation from Auburn to Lake Tapps; and our living conditions in Lake Tapps - all attest to my father’s willingness to endure hardship while persevering faithfulness over those following his lead. As the father and leader of these individuals; he would press forward despite experiences that might cause others to falter. The details of these developments are delineated in another document entitled “Miraculous Call”; and the reader may peruse its pages to ascertain the depth and breadth of my father’s faith. Suffice it here to say that the ‘thread of divine guidance’ was accepted as this valiant leader led his family through strenuous and disturbing circumstances to experience divine intervention in bringing about genuinely miraculous events. Such events could not have occurred had not my father yielded to the will of God in bringing about His purposes in the lives of Dad’s offspring. Divine influence and timing do not occur in a vacuum. Rather, those who also must follow; are influenced for righteousness to bring about God’s design. My father was just such a man.

• As I watched Dad’s health diminish, I observed his more frequent, more involved procedures as he endeavored to preserve his health with the passing of time. I witnessed him partaking as much as a handful of medications daily to maintain and preserve his activity as he and his wife gradually surrendered to a diminishing activity and declining health. I watched as mom’s health faded amidst her struggle with Interstitial Lungs Disease. Observing her dependence on mechanical breathing apparatus’, Dad knew he’d need to help her as her strength weakened. I was convinced then and remain so; that Dad wrestled with his own well-being in order to avail himself to protect and support Mom in her slow retreat from well-being. Unsure of how or how long he’d be able to provide such; he nevertheless offered his well-being as a reinforcement of her circumstance. Essentially, he offered himself as a sacrifice for her – an expectation of one who loved his wife so completely!
• In the waning years of their lives, I would watch as I witnessed my father search the scriptures to illuminate the world and truths that surrounded him. Some may have failed to comprehend his intensified search of deep understanding he found within the lines of revealed scripture. Some may have thought he slumbered in his easy chair (at times he did); others may have deduced that he was merely proving obedience; but I’m confident he firmly held that there were deep truths that had somehow evaded him throughout this earthly sojourn. Occasionally, he would engage me in conversation (he seldom revealed his findings because he held them so dear) and I was permitted to be imbued with the light that accompanied such conversations. Though some foolishly judged him against the temporal backdrop of popular thought; Dad sought the wisdom that surpassed history and common understanding. He searched out and occasionally comprehended the wisdom that was immortal, eternal, everlasting. I always enjoyed the challenges of understanding accompanying our limited conversations.
• Dad could be exceptionally perceptive and attuned to one’s hidden needs. Once I called my mother to converse and receive counsel. To my surprise, she related a short exchange she’d had with my father while laying together during that morning’s hours. She’d revealed that she was frightened concerning her death; and that it had caused her some anxiety inasmuch as she knew she would be facing such in coming years. Endeavoring to calm my mother; I was cut short. She interrupted me to relate my father’s words. He told her she need not fear; and that when the time came, he would draw near and whisper in her ear that she “was finished here. That she had accomplished valiantly all that she needed to accomplish; and that she could comfortably lay her mortal shell down; and join those that awaited her arrival on the other side.” Taken back by such poignant words from my father, I questioned “Did my father say that?” Incredulously, mom said “Can you believe your father said that?” I was stunned at the comforting expression with which he intended to assist his wife’s passing.

  • However, with my mother’s passing it was not to be. Following a serious development in Dad’s health (following mom’s death); he lost his right leg near the hip due to gangrenous development incurring amputation. In the year or so prior to this occurrence, he’d lost his son, Jay. A week or so later he lost his beloved wife, Bonnie. Now a year later, he’d lost his right leg. Unable to care for himself adequately, we arranged for him to reside in a nursing home where they’d help him with his handicap. Consequently, the home he and mom had occupied for almost 30 years was forfeited along with all its belongings. Dad had been reduced to himself and the six inches surrounding his person - in a matter of a few short years. I took it upon myself to visit him a couple of times from Ontario where I lived. I was buoyed by his attitude to lift those that visited him; and received notice that many who visited him also received encouragement from one so encumbered. I’d been struck by Dad’s continuation of church attendance following mom’s death; and was reminded of this man’s personal commitment to righteousness regardless of circumstances.

  • One evening while sitting at home, I received a call from Dad. Without multiplying words, he informed me that the doctors had informed him that his other leg would have to be amputated – it too had become gangrenous. Shocked to learn of such a development, he then gently informed me that he was not going to let them take his leg. He then waited silently for me to comprehend his meaning. Quickly I surmised that my father had decided to let life dwindle with the disease that would soon usher him toward the Spirit world. He said that the time for ‘heroics’ had passed; and he would brave his remaining days. I told him that we, his children, did not want to see him go; but that it was his life and we would respect (reluctantly) his final decision. He thanked me for understanding and the phone went silent. Thinking Dad might’ve entered a ‘spell’ or dropped the phone, I continued to try to engage him – to no avail. That was to be the last time I conversed with my father.

  • Notified that night had been particularly difficult for him, I learned that he’d been submitted to the hospice arm of the facility awaiting death. Conversing with my sister Tammy, I determined I’d better go to him in Salt Lake City (not knowing how long I’d be there). Her husband picked me up at the airport a day or so later and transported me to the home where Dad was. Entering the room, I saw Tammy sitting at a nearby sofa with Dad on his back in the bed opposite her. Leaning over to face him, I announced myself and saw no distinct recognition in his open eyes peering skyward. Sitting with Tammy, we reviewed his condition and I reiterated I did not know how long I’d need to stay – a day, a week or a month! Several minutes later Dad made a noise and I resumed my position facing him. It was then that I saw (how I cannot say) his recognition of me. He could not speak; but his eyes said it all. I expressed how delighted I was to see him and expressed my love for him. Then his eyes lost expression; and I was left to myself and Tammy. Thereafter for the next hour or so, several people showed up. First Hugh’s wife Karen appeared. Then a granddaughter Angela. Hugh would appear a short while later. And Jay’s widow Jean (seldom driving to Salt Lake) appeared. Thus, there were a number of relatives that had gathered at Dad’s bedside. Minutes later, Dad began to struggle to breathe and entered what Hugh described as the ‘death rattle’. Struggling to breathe, Hugh leaned over to help Dad in any way he could. Remembering what he’d told mom, I placed my hand on Hugh’s shoulder and requested to draw near. To this he readily relented and I began to whisper. I told him that all his children were OK; and that he’d completed his work here in this life. I reiterated how his children loved him; and his wife and others were awaiting his arrival beyond. I affirmed that he’d lived his mortal life valiantly. I then released him to join with his others. With that, I saw the glimmer leave his eyes and somehow knew he’d passed. I then (recognizing some of us would soon follow) said, “See ya, Dad”.

Though these are only a few of the struggles and sacrifices he undertook throughout his mortal sojourn, I believe they reflect his genuine righteousness as he endeavored to traverse his mortality untarnished. Recognizing human accomplishment is not rated on a curve, I’m nevertheless, confident that his life will qualify for the mercy meted by Jesus Christ to all that follow Him. As a witness of my father’s life, I can attest that he endeavored throughout his life to follow Christ and His righteousness. The following story reflects well on his endeavors to present an unblemished life to those awaiting his entrance to a spiritual existence hereafter. He was and is a divine blessing to me that shall not be tarnished now nor blemished hereafter. His many, many acts of righteousness utterly outweigh any perceived shortcomings he may have thought significant.

Dad was endeavoring to perfect his life!

My father lost his right leg in the last year or so of his life! A couple of his toes on his right foot turned completely black and died. As a result of this, he was susceptible to gangrene. Thinking the doctors might be able to save his leg; they found more than he expected and had to sever his right leg just below his right hip. This was quite a blow to my father; and to us - his children. Nevertheless, we arranged for his care at a facility for the elderly(he was 81); and visited him there in the latter 12+ months of his life. He undoubtedly underwent a number of changes as he lived in a bed next to another resident. Nevertheless, I heard from a couple of sources that is spirits seemed relatively high as he was visited by others. Regardless, I watched as he endeavored to meet the requirements of staying in the facility (a very good one) provided for him. On one particular visit, I sat by him in the physical therapy room where he exercised his left leg. I could tell that he didn't necessarily like having to perform the physical exercises but nevertheless succumbed to the admonitions of his trainer. 

On one particular visit, I had come from Ontario, California where I lived. As I sat there next to his bed near its head, we conversed concerning his circumstance and the conditions under which he lived. As our conversation drew to a lull, my father grew somewhat pensive and disclosed that he had been concerned for some time about how he might be received on the other side (spirit world). I appreciated my father's willingness to discuss such consequential things and engaged in such discussion with him. As he revealed his concerns, I recognized that my father seemed to be reviewing his life (like my mother did) in preparations for its end! Timidly, I queried my father, while still trying to protect his privacy. Like I did with my mother, I ventured: “About what time of your life are we talking about here, Dad?” I was concerned that something I should not know from his military experience might be made known to me and I would be accountable. To my surprise and gratitude, my father replied, “Oh, I guess I was about 12 years old”. Relieved that my father had ‘cleansed’ his life all the way back to the age of 12, I was very proud of the life my father had led. I was extremely grateful to be his son and enjoy the benefits of his very good life! I knew that numerous things had taken place; as he endured the four years away from home and family - in various locations, as he served in the European Theater of World War II. Like I did with my mother, I stated “Dad, I wish I had your problem” and then attempted to lighten the mood and express my own relief that he'd led a very good life in mortality. Like I did with my mother a few years earlier, I expressed (as best I could) my deep and heartfelt gratitude to him for being my father! I love my father and thank him for the wisdom that he imparted to me - a foolish son!