As a child, going over to Grandpa and Grandma's house always meant we were in store for some fun and adventure. When Grandpa came to greet us and give us a hug, I always loved his scent. A soothing mixture of a wood burning stove, and menthol cough drops. 

After catching up for a bit, it was off to play for Kelly and me. Grandpa would join in too. Whether it was giving us under dogs on the swing, or going on a bike ride, he was always up for a little fun.

Later on in the day, Grandpa could be found playing a tune on his harmonica, or messing with his newest gadget. But more than likely, you'd find him zonked out in his reclining chair snoring away. Heeding the warning from my older cousins, I never tried to wake him up by touching his feet. I was told that I just might get kicked!

Before long, it would be time to leave, and also time for the highly anticipated Goody Bag. Grandma would fill our bags with treats such as Little Debbies, Fruit Roll Ups, apples, and hard candies. Grandpa was like a vulture, just waiting to make his move. If we weren't paying close enough attention, that sneaky Grandpa would snatch our goody bag from us, and claim it as his own! Looking back now, it is humorous that this even happened, I mean he had a pantry full of this stuff. It was just one of his ways of showing us love.

Making our way outside, we would get into our vehicle to leave. We would blow kisses to Grandma and Grandpa and head on down the long gravel driveway. Within no time, we would see Grandpa out the back window chasing after us. He would follow us about half way down the driveway, and then stop. He would then give one last goodbye with his 2-fingered bunny wave.

In more recent times, Grandpa was still there for us. Attending graduations, and weddings, and still with a smile on his face. But the last couple years have been especially difficult. Watching an independent person become so dependent on others. I'm so thankful for Grandma, who loved him and cared for him, and for family members and nurses who sat with him while Grandma was out. We can be comforted in the fact that Grandpa is in the glory of Jesus.

Philippians 3:20-21; But our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ, who, by the power that enables him to bring everything under his control, will transform our lowly bodies so that they will be like his glorious body.

Tribute For My Dad

I'm Dan.

Dave and Betty's son. And before I say a few words about dad, I want to thank mom for taking such wonderful care of him, especially these last few years, months and days as Parkinson's took its heavy toll.on them both. It was a blessing that he could die at home and in the loving care of my mom.

My dad liked sports, guns, fireworks, bows and arrows, lanterns, motorcycles, loading his own shotgun shells; on Sunday afternoons our family would sometimes go for a drive into the woods, find a two-track, drive some more and then get out and just play and admire the beauty of nature. So it was a lot of fun just being a boy around all of this.

One of my earliest memories is, at about the age of 2 or 3, my dad picking me up, taking me outside and around the back of the house. My mom was taking a shower. He said,  We're going to scare mom. I'm going to lift you up to the bathroom window and I want you to yell BOO' as loud as you can. Well I did, and my mom screamed and dad got that gleam in his eye. This story sort of sets the tone and gives you a look at my dad's sense of humor.

Dad never talked a whole lot about his childhood.
But one story he did tell us about was how as young boys, he and his brother Roger would hunt jack rabbits- at night - on the plains of South Dakota.
They would drive Roger's car through the open fields,
scare up the rabbits and shoot at them-from the car- with their 22 rifles. 
Keep in mind he was about 10 or 12 at the time.

And when we were kids my dad kept chasing rabbits in our front.yard. (If you've seen our front yard you know it's about 75-100 yards long.)
We'd  come home from- say my grandma's house- and we'd pull in the driveway- dark- at night, headlights sweeping over the lawn, dad would spot a rabbit and he'd chase it with the car, zigging and zagging, 
us kids wide-eyed in the back seatlaughingthrilled. watching the poor bunny bolt back into the woods.

Another story, again young Dave is about the age of 10, trying to act cool, he picks up a dud fire-cracker and pretends to smoke it.
Well it blew up in his mouth swelling his lip up real bad. 
He slept that night at a cousin's house so his mom wouldn't see his injuries.
He said they smoked everything they could get their hands on back then.
And a dud fire cracker was no exception.

Dad was a man of few words.
But there are a few legendary stories of his wilder teen years.

One of those stories is that:
As a teen, in Holland, cruising through the downtown streets as kids often did back then, he spotted
a narrow opening between two cars in front of him
Well to dad this presented an opportunity.
He stepped on it!
Floored it!
Hit the accelerator aiming his car at the narrow opening.
He tried to thread his car between the other two cars.
He didn't make it.
You can imagine the loud scraping of metal on metal,
As dad's car came to a screeching halt, wedged in the middle - and stuck in between the two cars.

Dad worked at Holland Color which later became BASF.
A factory that manufactured the base materials used to make paint.
It was hard and dirty work.
The men had nick names like Blackie, Skinny, and Dutchie. 
Their clothes smelled like oil paint, they carried banged up aluminum lunch boxes and thermoses filled with coffee.
It was dangerous work too.
Fumes could ignite and cause a flash fire in the mixing tanks.
One worker did burn to death while cleaning a tank.
Dad even went to the ER a few times suffering from Chlorine inhalation.

My pop used phrases like: cotton pickers, and pot lickers, and rammin' around.
And as my own kids can tell you...When you string them together you get:
Hey you cotton picking - pot lickin kids! Stop your rammin' around.

A friend of mine from high school, said to me this week, I remember your dad wasn't much of a talker, but you always knew what he was thinking.

He will be remembered for the twinkle in his eye which meant a joke, prank or some form of rowdiness was about to take place. We loved him for that. 
And the twinkle in his eye never shined brighter than when he played with his grand kids and great grand daughters.
He will also be remembered as a hard working, strong man, who - over  the course of nearly 40 years- seldom missed a day of work. Often holding down 2 or 3 jobs to make ends meet.
Dave, Dad, Pop, Grandpa Dave. We will miss him.

I'll finish with  words that I wrote the night of his death:
It's about baseball a passion of his. (Dean and Debbie reminded me that getting Rocky Road ice cream at The Yum Yum Shoppe and root beer at A & W after Dad's ball games is still a wonderful memory for them.

So this about passion and spirit.

My Pop left this earth today
His factory-forged, tattooed, athletic body 
slowly ravaged by Parkinson's Disease.

When we are able, our spirits long to soar- to truly live the life we were meant to.
My dad worked in a paint factory,
But his spirit soared playing fast-pitch softball.

My memories of going to these games are some of my best.
They say the place you feel most free is where you belong,
and for me it's hard to beat a ball diamond.

My dad was fast and could chase down almost any ball hit to centerfield.

At home before each game he'd go through a ritual.
I can still smell the bengay-like heat he'd rub on his aching throwing arm
see the sliding pad he wore around his waist to protect his thigh from the diamond gravel
the inevitable rashes and scrapes from stolen bases.

I soaked it all in, deeply. 
Chasing down foul balls.
Running out to the wooden scoreboard to change the numbers between innings. 
As I crossed the outfield a player would toss me a warm up ball.

I can still hear the men chatter:
Give him the old dark one.
Fire that pill now
No batter up there. He can't hit.
Hey batter, hey batter, hey batta, batta, batta.

The dugout, nothing more than an old, weathered 2x12 on posts set just behind the infield fence.
Smoke, spit, dust, spikes on concrete.

Preparing to leave this earth is quieter business.
Our spirit honors the constraints of our physical body and mind,
giving us the stillness required to let go.
Quiet. 
Waiting to soar again.

Today my dad's spirit soared.
I am once again reminded how short our lives really are.
so close the memory of my handsome, hero of a dad
crashing into the centerfield fence,
robbing some guy of a home run.

Blink - fifty years go by.

Blink - you're stealing second base in heaven.

Hey batter, batter, batter,
Hey batta, Hey Batta
Hey batta
Swing batta, Swing!

We are so sorry for your loss.  May God comfort all of you and give you perfect peace.
Love and prayers,  John & Gesine Horsting

Our deepest sympathies for your loss. All of you are in our thoughts and prayers during this time of loss.

Sorry for your loss. Your family is in our hearts and prayers. Fond memories of watching Dave play softball.

May our Lord bless and comfort you and your family during this time of grief. I extend my most heartfelt condolences to you all.

AVIS DE DÉCÈS

David Roelofs

2 octobre 1937 – 25 mai 2015

Lakeshore Memorial Services

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