Lester Gregersen

1916 – 2011

This world’s loss is heaven’s gain.  Lester Gregersen was an amazing man, father, grandfather, husband, and friend to many.  Through his 65 years of marriage to my grandma and raising their 5 kids he was able to pass along a piece of himself to each of us.  He loved traditions and family gatherings.  He loved being outdoors and taking care of his cattle ranch.  He loved to laugh, dance, and hum a tune. He was a man with no conceivable enemies and an immediate friend of everyone he met.  He had the kindest, blue eyes that sparkled with life and felt like a hug.  He took on life with a spring in his step and a whistling tune on his lips.

I can only hope to live a life as full as he and to carry on some of his character in who I am and who I raise my children to be.

 One great memory I have from my elementary school days was spending a morning picking blackberries with my grandfather. During late summer his calloused hands were always stained purple from picking berries that my grandma would turn into wonderful jam.  He knew all the best places around his ranch and had perfected his methods. You see, the best berries often grow on the top of the 8 foot or taller bushes. Not a problem at all for this seasoned veteran. He had figured out that backing his old ranch truck right into the bush and throwing a 2x4 plank off the side and into the perfect berry-picking spot brought home the best harvest. So, as he taught us, with my old coffee can tied around my waist with bailing wire, a glove on my left hand to pick up the branches, jeans and a long sleeve shirt to protect from the thorns, and a heart swollen with excitement for time with grandpa, he sets me out on my plank to get pickin'. With my can about halfway full I make the overconfident mistake of any kid around 10 years old and reach a little too far, losing my balance off my walking plank and falling flat on my back into the middle of the mammoth sized blackberry bush. Tied down by all the thorns now attached to my clothes I call out for help. Grandpa finally hears me from his own berry-pickin' plank and realizes he can't see me. He scurries over to find me stuck in the middle of the bush and laughs abundantly while asking me, "Well now why d'ya go about doing that?" A few minutes later he had freed me from the claws of the blackberries and set me up picking down on the ground. No more plank walking for me. It is his laughter in his speech and the time he was always willing to share that I will keep with me. How you could tell he loved each and every one of us and truly wanted to be spending his time with us. His life was full and rich and wonderful because he filled it with people and shared part of his heart with each of us.

I figure a little piece of my heart will always have the "Sunday blues" now that he is gone. It’s a term in my family to coin Grandpas sadness on Sundays after the family had been around for the weekend and now everyone had gone home. No one wanted to be the last to leave because those blue, sad eyes would break your heart every time. He cherished his family so much and saying goodbye, even if only for a few weeks, was such sorrow. I know it was his time to go and I know he is in a much better place now.  He is waiting for us to someday join him and until then a corner of my heart will have the Sunday Blues, for it has lost a man who has made a great impression on my life.