In Memory

Richard Cook - Class Of 1956

Passed away January 29, 2017

 

Written by his wife, Fran Sears Richard Guy Cook March 31, 1937 – January 29, 2017 It’s been a couple of weeks now and as I move on to a new chapter in my life, it is both difficult and joyous that I reflect over the 24 years that Rich and I spent together. Rich was a red-headed short man with a stubbornness and determination that superseded his size. While it was rarely displayed, I knew it was easier to let it play out than try to talk him out of anything. That may be why our time together went by and included lots of challenges, adventures, and until his illness, there was always laughter. While Rich was not a unique man, he was a unique character. He felt if it was broken, it should be fixed (and generally he did fix it). He could make a wonderful bread pudding but wouldn’t share his recipe. He could irritate when chose not to listen because he would look at you and flip off his hearing aid (and smile). And when it came to his pets, they were his best buddies. Towards the end his dog, Clyde, never left his side, up to and including Rich’s last breath. During our time together, even though his age was against him, there were so many things that Rich experienced. The first plane ride which would have been his last if we hadn’t changed planes in Minneapolis – that little plane between Cedar Rapids and Minneapolis just needed too much of his help (he swore it was his ESP that got us there). After that plane rides were wonderful. He had his first trip to North Carolina where a cousin took him on the back roads where relatives ran moonshine. Then we were off to the awesome Atlantic Ocean where a storm raged and the waters were both majestic and frightening, an experience which left lasting memories. Bypass surgery never slowed him down and as soon as the 12 weeks of recuperation was finished, he was back to doing his own yard work (he said it was easier to do it himself than watch me). We had an adventurous trip to Florida (followed by several more). There, for the first time, Rich saw the Gulf and ate fresh oysters and alligator tails. A search for his relatives took us on trips to Missouri, Ohio, and Arkansas (and Iowa). In the end, we learned we were cousins (I was his 19th cousin several times removed) and our mutual relatives came over on the Mayflower. But he loved knowing he had three grandfathers that came on the Mayflower, while I that I had only 1 grandfather and 1 grandmother that made the trip in 1620 (did I say he was competitive). And finding his biological grandparents, after years of not knowing, brought an end to his years of always wondering who he really was. We took a weekend to go geode hunting in the Turkey River. We came home covered with mud, but had buckets of geodes, and he had a smile that told everything. Seeing Iowa via side roads and detours and never irritated Rich and he never complained about the extra time and miles we had to travel to get back on track. We preferred to think of it as seeing Americana, not getting lost. Rich found adventure in clearing a tired acreage. Then we moved to Brooklyn he chose to build a home at the lake (and he started this when he was 68 – completing when he was 75 (he wasn’t fast but he was persistent). I was his assistant carpenter and we worked well together, most of the time, and we got the job done. Rich loved auctions and garage and estate sales and coming home with treasures, treasures, treasures (and junk depending who was telling the story). And did I mention convertibles – red, white, purple, blue, black – didn’t matter how big or the color as long as they were a convertible. He loved the feel of the wind on his face – it was living at its best. During the 24 years we saw many marriages, babies, illnesses, and deaths; all met with the resilience that had come from acceptance and complexity of living. We had tears, but we also had laughter and it is the laughter that I will remember. Rich wasn’t a perfect man and it wasn’t a perfect marriage, but he was a good man and it was a good marriage. I will miss him, life will go on, and the memories will continue to bring tears and joy. But faith tells me, as I told Rich towards the end [when it is my time], “I’ll see you on the other side”. 

http://www.murdochfuneralhome.com/obituaries/Richard-Cook-15/#!/Obituary