Robert Bryan Norton (the original)

It has taken me a month, but I am finally going to do it. Everyday since August 28th (and some days even before), I have wrestled with how to write that the man who gave my husband life, that man our son is named for, is gone. Robert Bryan Norton of course gave Mike and all of us so much more than that;... a friend, a sage, a rock who we could all lean on, his life was an example to everyone who knew him. As father-in-laws go, I couldn't have picked or invented a better one. Mike's parents have always treated me like I was one of their children by birth, and my dad 2.0 (as I sometimes called him) never failed to let me know how happy they were that I was part of their family. I was going through some old e-mails to clean out my inbox, and I found one from him where he closed by telling me I was "the perfect daughter-in-law." I don't know if that is necessarily true, but it is an example of the loving charity he always showed me. We always had such fun together, too. We two had many late nights where we'd just stay up and talk. We loved baking treats whenever we had a visit. We shared a love for Chuck Norris facts, and one time sat in his office for a few hours coming up with new ones. But I don't want to write his obituary, or eulogize him... it has all been done before and done much better than I could. I truly don't know what to say, but I can't go on posting on our blog and failing to give him some recognition or honor. I know that he visited our blog frequently and found a lot of happiness in seeing our successes, joys, and funny moments.

For those who didn't know, Mike's dad had ALS (or Lou Gehrig's disease) for the last three years. We never mentioned it here because we knew he didn't want us to. One of those defining characteristics of Bryan Norton is that he is a strong, capable man. He did not want anybody to see him or treat him any differently, and he definitely did not want to be pitied for the horrible disease which struck him. He bore it with unbelievable faith and patience, and I can honestly say that I never heard him make one complaint. Whenever we asked him how he was, it was always, "good!" It was only weeks before his death that he downgraded his condition to, "okay!" If it weren't for Mike's sainted mother (who deserves a whole other post to sing her praises!) telling us the actual story of the disease's progress, we might never have known he was so close to passing.

We were able to talk to him on the phone and say goodbye the night before he left. We knew at that time it was the last we would ever speak to him. What do you say? What CAN you say? His mind was 100% present and sharp as always, his body failing him and unable to speak. He knew just as surely as we did that was the last time we would speak. The tragedy of that moment still hits me. So we told him we loved him, we thanked him for all he had ever done for us. We told him we loved him again. And again. Then Megan and Robby spoke to him. I can't remember what Megan told him, but I think it was something about how she takes good of her Care Bears. It added a whole other layer of sadness to the moment realizing that Megan and Robby didn't understand that their Papa was going to be gone for good. Their Papa couldn't say much at all, only make brief utterances. But in those we could hear what he was trying to say-- that he knew all that we wanted to say but just couldn't... that he would miss us too... and that he knew he was going to be okay, and we would too.

Bryan Norton is one of those people whose voice you can hear in your head, giving you good advice. As his disease progressed, when I would think or remember his voice I would still hear the slurring of the disease. It got to where days before he died, I was thinking back and could not remember what he used to sound like. And now, as our little family is still addressing the grief of his passing and the stresses of life's events and I think of what he would tell us, (something like, "Michael! It's NOT that bad!") I hear HIS voice. Not the disease's voice, but his. Megan summed it up for me just now. She walked in and saw my tears as I wrote these words, and asked me what was wrong. I told her I was sad because I was thinking about how Papa is gone now. She put her arm around me and said, "But I'm happy, because he's not sick anymore."

And isn't that the point? In this life we experience a lot of joy, and we also have a lot of miseries. I know that there is a plan for our being here and living and dying. If it weren't for our Savior, who lived a perfect life and died as a sacrifice for our imperfections, we would be lost forever. The plan of our Heavenly Father to bring us back to Him in glory and perfection could never be satisfied were it not for the atonement of Jesus Christ. We would be doomed to failure and misery and separation from the people we love, but for Him. But with Him, we have hope and a secure knowledge that we will be reunited when the pain and suckage of this life is at an end. That knowledge makes the pain and suckage much less acute, and it gives a peace that nothing else can approximate. I know that our family will be whole again, and in the meantime I find peace and comfort knowing that when that time comes it will be for eternity.

Oh, all the Chuck Norris facts we can make up, then!