Joseph Jerome Roberts

My cousin, Joseph Jerome Roberts, died last week. I drove up to Negaunee in the UP for his funeral this past Thursday. Joe was 89 years old. It was, I think, about four years ago that I first met him. Two of my sisters and I had gone to the Marquette County Clerk of Courts to search for Roberts family records. We requested records of our mother's name and a man came out of an office, saying, "I believe I'm your cousin." This was the first time we had met or known the existence of our cousin, David Roberts, then Marquette County, MI Clerk of Courts. Later that day, he introduced us to his dad, Joe Roberts.

Joe at first thought he was our uncle, but quickly found out he was a cousin. When he told us that, I sensed he was disappointed...anyway, I acknowledged the cousin relationship, but have always written 'Uncle' in my notes and letter to him. I rather liked the idea of an uncle, and I kind of thought he did, also.

Joe had been in a nursing home over the last three years. He had suffered a stroke and slowly deteriorated. At his funeral, as I watched his family - David and his wife, Pat; their children and grandchildren, I thought how loved Joe was. In my few visits I recall references and treatment of Joe of great respect and love. That same love and respect was shown him at his casket as war veterans saluted a fellow vet; co-workers and friends of Dave and Pat understood the love for Dave's father; people who knew Joe from his work in the iron mines paid their respects.

Joe was my grandfather's nephew - now I'm not sure I have that right; have to check the family tree. For the hardship he experienced growing up, both parents having died early in his childhood, Joe seemed to me a wise, gentle man of deep faith and belief in humankind. In truth, of course, I barely knew him as we met so late in life. He probably knows more about me from my letters to him!

I've just met or gotten to know Joe's grandchildren and great grandchildren just a bit while in Negaunee. I believe all the graciousness and goodness of Joe reveals itself in them. He left an awesome legacy.

Selfishly, I will miss Joe. My letters were one-way, of course, as he wasn't able to respond because of his health. But it was as if I received a great gift from him in being able to write and feel he accepted me fully and looked forward to hearing from me. I received such fullness from the short time I knew Joe. He gave me a Roberts family connection that I cherish.

Whether it was because of the domestic violence or other dysfuctions in my birth family, we moved around a great deal and had few ties to my mother's family, except for my Aunt Cleo, whose family lived nearby. though I had written to my Grandmother Roberts (Eugenia Johanna Pelto, also known as Helen), my memories of visiting her in the UP are of perhaps, a five year old. One day, while we lived in Bloomingdale, Illinois, an elderly woman came to the door and asked to see my mother. Thirteen or fourteen at the time, I showed her to the kitchen where Mom was, and I left for my errand. I learned later, from a very angry mother, that the visitor was my grandmother. It was the last time I saw her. My mom felt angry with me for leaving (how could I have known?), but I also felt a loss in not knowing my grandmother.

I think part of my writing to Joe was to be in some way, a part of his life, of the Roberts family. That sounds a bit selfish as I lay it down. At the funeral I thought again, how such services are for the living - to remember the good and the bad, how a death affects our lives and perhaps induces change for the good.

In Joe I also found a living link to my grandparents, to my mother's family. On visits to the cemetery, he talked about aunts and uncles who have been only names to me. He told me about family health issues, personalities, and relationships. As we walked among the graves, people came to life for me. I hadn't thought I would cry as I have been. We cry for the living as well as the dead. We cry for what we've lost and for what we never had. Again, selfishly, I perhaps cry more for myself.