This is so hard to write.
Daddy, William “Bill” Oliver Roberson, Sr., died on Friday, 23 August 2024. He had two massive cardiac arrests that Thursday morning and never regained consciousness. Mom, Matt’s widow, the seniors pastor from my parents’ church, and I sang hymns to him as he passed away.
No parent should have to bury one child, but my parents buried two of them. My older brother, Will, died on 27 August 1966. He was just a little over two. He went into the hospital for a routine hernia repair and died from malignant hyperthermia.1MH was identified in 1962, but there was no known treatment until 1975. Matt, my younger brother, died this January from colorectal cancer. Daddy had been in poor health for a while, but since losing Matt, we saw Daddy fading faster.
I wrote his obituary. I spoke at his funeral. Both were difficult, but I got through them for Mom’s sake, and to honor Daddy. This post incorporates my notes for speaking at the funeral.
The meme to the left was on my mind as I prepared to speak, so I brought it up during my talk. I could tell who had worked with Daddy by how much they laughed.
For most of my life, it was a central truth that Daddy could fix anything. If he didn’t know how he’d figure it out. Nowadays, you can find directions for doing almost anything on YouTube or TikTok, but Daddy started his fix-it career long before those appeared. He would just suss it out. He might cuss a lot, but he would figure out how to make whatever it was work. And now he’s gone.
Daddy and I didn’t have many interests or beliefs in common, but we shared a common disdain for idleness. None of his children were ever latchkey kids. There are many jokes about GenX being feral, but we didn’t know that life. Daddy worked hard so Mom could stay home with us. He worked his regular job and he worked side jobs. That meant there were periods when we didn’t see as much of him as we preferred, but we always knew he was there if we needed him.
Before his hands and back got so bad, Daddy was constantly working on something. When you visited, you could be sure that he was probably in the basement or the garage with the parts for some device spread out in an orderly fashion. Even after his body betrayed him, he was always willing to give advice. He just could not abide a thing that didn’t work properly. After he developed the need for a scooter or wheelchair, he figured out how they worked. He started repairing any broken ones he came across and donating them to people who needed and couldn’t afford them. He had a generous spirit.
One of the things that frustrated him the most about having to use mobility devices was that he couldn’t participate effectively in a church ministry that helped people with repairs to their homes. It wasn’t about him. It was about what he wanted to do for other people.
Daddy lost his father when he was just seven years old. I’ve always known that intellectually, but I didn’t feel it bone deep like I do now. My daughter’s father died when she was nine, and Daddy was there for her like nobody else. He stepped in to do father-type things like helping to teach her to drive. He didn’t even get mad when she wrecked his truck.
Nobody modeled fathering for Daddy, so he also figured that out on his own. He wasn’t perfect, but he was head and shoulders above most.
Daddy worked through a lot of serious physical pain and just kept going. After he took a serious fall down that tall escalator at the Atlanta airport, he had to have surgery on his back (again). As soon as he got home from the hospital, he was working from home in a hospital bed.
He modeled an incredible work ethic for us, even giving us our first jobs, taking us to work with him at Peachtree Trane. We gained many work skills, but most of all, we learned that even if you don’t feel like going, you get up every day, go to work, and do your best.
Daddy was a teacher. When he hired someone, he taught them a lot, even setting up classes for his service techs. When he was teaching at the vocational school in Gadsden, he brought students home with him and kept teaching them. They joined us when they didn’t have somewhere to go for holidays. I remember having people all over the house for Thanksgiving and other holidays.
Daddy was a protector. When I was about 16, I closed up shop one night at the Gwinnett Place Mall store where I worked, walked out to my car alone, and headed home. A carful of guys approached, waving and hollering. At first, I thought there must have been somebody from school with them, and they were just being friendly. Then, I felt uneasy, then downright threatened, as they followed me. And kept following. Those eight miles had never seemed so long as they did that night!
Also, I had never been as grateful for that car’s oversized engine as I was that night. Daddy gave me a muscle car, and that was the only time I ever floored it.
Now, this was way before we had cell phones. I didn’t even consider going to a police station. I wanted my Daddy and I knew he would protect me.
I pulled up in the driveway, honking the horn, and that car was still right there behind me. Daddy walked out onto the carport, all 6’4” of him with that Marine Corps carriage, and those boys suddenly had other places to be.
It’s hard to find a man who lives up to the standards Daddy set. When I was younger, I honestly thought that every guy came with a toolbox, do-it-yourself abilities, and a strong work ethic. That notion was soon dispelled! I am fortunate in that my husband has those qualities. Daddy and Rick had a rocky start, but they found a lot of commonalities over the last decade.
Daddy loved his family. He and Mom met at a church baseball game when they were 15 and 13. He walked her home, then went home and told his mother, “I met the girl I’m going to marry.” He did exactly that four years later, and they were together for another 61 years. He loved all four of his children as well as his five grandchildren and two great-grandchildren, and nothing made him happier than time spent with them.
Daddy loved his work, too, and he missed it terribly. I don’t think he would have ever retired if not for that terrible fall down the escalator at the Atlanta airport that broke his body.
When he wasn’t working or fixing something, Daddy enjoyed traveling. I’m glad he and Mom got to do a lot of it. From South Georgia to Morocco to Alaska, he found something to love everywhere they went.
Wherever he was, Daddy was a Marine. He only served four years of active duty, but the saying, “Once a Marine, always a Marine,” was one hundred percent true for him.
He also loved Alabama football. I’m so glad he got to go to some of their games in person over the last few years! He was glued to the television every time they played, and that was true as far back as I remember.
The trick is to think of life as a process rather than a substance. When a candle is burning, there is a flame that clearly carries energy. When we put the candle out, the energy doesn’t ‘go’ anywhere. The candle still contains energy in its atoms and molecules. What happens, instead, is that the process of combustion has ceased. Life is like that: it’s not ‘stuff’; it’s a set of things happening. When that process stops, life ends. ― Sean Carroll, The Big Picture: On the Origins of Life, Meaning, and the Universe Itself
Ever since he died, a voice in my head keeps saying, “My Daddy is gone.” The absence of his sure strength immediately created a massive hole in my life.
Rick lost both of his parents long before we met. He told me years ago that when you lose a parent, you feel alone like never before, and he’s absolutely right. This is, finally, something Daddy can’t fix.
Daddy will live on in all the lives that he’s touched, and that’s especially true for our family. He provided for, protected, and taught us. He prepared us for being on our own. I hope to make him proud of how we live the lessons he gave us.
