Tribute to Joyce Clark

My grandma passed away on Jan. 11. It's been nearly a month and I feel like it's just starting to take hold in me. I'm surprised at how often I think of her — things she would like, things that remind me of her, questions I want to ask about cooking or sewing or cleaning. I ripped the seam that held the zipper onto my jacket the other day. I happened to be going to visit Grandpa the next day, and found myself wishing she could sew my zipper back on. I wanted to ask her how far back the family's peonies date too. I think they came from my great-great-Grandma Hunter, or maybe Smoot, I don't know. She could tell me for sure.

I spent a great day on Antelope Island with Grandpa this week. He told me lots of stories about the buffalo roundups — the family favorite is when Image bucked him off and he got a black eye after a baby buffalo butted Image in the chest. We saw where they camped, kept the horses and stopped at a memorial for some soldiers killed in a helicopter crash in 1992. He remembered being stuck on the causeway for a few hours while emergency crews were on the scene. It killed 12 men.

I know we both had a good time and enjoyed each other's company, but I can tell he's sad, understandably, and misses his wife and friend.

Here is the tribute I wrote and read at her funeral, Jan. 14, 2010.


Weekends at Grandma and Grandpa’s house began with shredded wheat or granola, feeding the horses in too-big black galoshes with Grandpa, and almost always included a trip to Layton Hills Mall with Grandma. She usually bumped into a few people she knew.

At home, she always knew exactly where everything was. She once sent me down to the basement for something — I don’t remember what it was — and she not only told me where to find it, but described everything else on the shelves around it. I remember finding that quite remarkable once I got down to the shelves and everything was exactly as she had described.

Grandma always came prepared. One year at our yearly vacation to Deer Springs Ranch, we ended up on a sandy road after exploring some caves; we were hot, tired and hungry. A family of California tourists also were hot and tired, without water or a long walk back to their car. We all piled in the back of Grandpa’s truck for the ride back, and Grandma pulled out a cube of sharp cheddar cheese and a pocket knife, and started slicing. Cheese never tasted so good.

Grandma loved BYU football. When we were young, they had four season tickets, and they would take different people with them each week. Grandma always wore Cougar blue, complete with matching earrings. She was friendly with a lot of the people who sat nearby. We’d pass the binoculars back and forth, and she would shout things down to the field just as much as anybody else. Halftime meant a polish dog and a Sprite, and the long car ride home to Kaysville was made even longer by the post-game show on KSL (for me anyway).

Grandma loved holidays. She always dressed accordingly, with festive earrings and cute T-shirts. I don’t, however, ever remember her wearing a tacky Christmas sweater. She was much too fashionable for that. When I got older, I often found myself complimenting her shoes, or her jacket, and even wishing we were the same size. Now who ever envies their grandmother’s clothes? She had a great sense of style and always looked her best. But she was a bargain shopper — with all those trips to ZCMI, she did a lot of hunting on sales racks. My cousin Melissa and I often got to pick items out of the Clinique free gift. In fact, I never bought make-up in junior high school because I always had a steady supply of eye shadow, blush and mascara from her.

Anyone who knew Grandma, knew she loved to shop. Except for all her good friends, I think that is what she loved most about Brazil. I remember her dividing up this four huge collections of dishes — one for her and each of her daughters. Grandpa made a comment about using these dishes, and she looked at him and said “Oh, you can’t eat off these plates, there’s lead in the glaze.” I’ve never seen someone look so bewildered. But these dishes were pretty, and she had to ship them home to her girls.

She always gave thoughtful Christmas presents, the most memorable for me being a quilt. She made all the grandkids a quilt for Christmas, and when we all opened them, we all talked about when we remember our quilt being up on the frames to be tied, months before, not knowing it was meant to be ours. I think she enjoyed our reactions.

As it said in her obituary, Grandma was our fan club. She always attended even the most simple of programs as we grew up. Melissa and I graduated from high school on the same day, and Grandma went to Melissa’s and Grandpa went to mine. And I know they were both sad they couldn’t both be to both ceremonies.

I lived in Kaysville from kindergarten through 9th grade. I have spent sick days on her couch, eating her delicious buttery toast. On the last day of ninth grade, a big group of us walked from the junior high to Tasty’s. I, of course, sat in gum, which wouldn’t come out of my tan shorts. But I called Grandma, and she came and picked me up so I could change, and she took care of getting the gum out of my shorts. Then she drove me back to meet up with my friends on Main Street. For the last half of 9th grade, we lived in their basement. I saw how Grandma and Grandpa were with each other when they thought no one was around. They were kind and gentle with each other; they were affectionate and loving. They laughed together, and talked.

While they were on their mission in West Africa, Grandma and I wrote back and forth periodically. As a freshman at Utah State, it was always fun to get mail, but I really loved getting a card from her in her perfect cursive penmanship.

Over the last few months, I liked to call on my way home from work, just to talk about how things were going, tell them about my kids and work and home. And she was always interested. And she was always nervous about me talking on my cell phone while I was driving.

I will miss my grandma terribly; I will miss her passion for history and maps. I’ll miss chuckling to myself as I watched her mow the lawn on the riding lawn mower. I’ll miss her pulling weeds in her flower garden. I’ll miss her falling asleep in the chair while watching TV, her head bobbing up and down. But I know I won’t miss her love for me, because I will carry that with me until we are reunited in the next life.