Kristen Marie Orrocks Recently, while helping my twelve-year old son with a homework assignment, I learned a new literary term: cinquain. It's a five-line poem that has a certain number of words or syllables per line. For his assignment, my son was supposed to write a cinquain about the main characters of a novel. Using only single word adjectives, no phrases or sentences, he was supposed to describe each character well enough so that when his teacher read them she would know exactly which character he was describing. Two days before Dad died, as my sister, Susan, was collecting emails to read to Dad in the hospital, I thought, I'll write a cinquain about Dad. It will be so easy to describe Dad this way, and sure enough, adjectives that applied to him came quickly to mind. However, I soon realized that I couldn't just slap them into a five line poem. These words required explanations. So here we go. Number 1: Humorous. Dad really enjoyed hearing and telling a good joke. I'll give a recent example that I think you'll find appropriate for today. Last March, we had a family get-together. The last time most of us had seen Dad a few weeks before, he'd been very sick. My sister, Diane, greeted Dad and said, "Dad, it's so nice to see you vertical!" and Dad replied, "Like I always say, 'It's better to be seen than viewed.'" Number 2: Hard-working: Susan has done a wonderful job covering this one, so we'll move on to Number 3: Devoted: Dad was devoted to many things. Here is a brief list: Dad was devoted to BYU football. LaVell Edwards' face and Paul James' voice were as familiar to us children as our own Dad's. This devotion was so strong that in his later years, when his heart was weak, he couldn't watch the football games until after they were over and only if BYU had won. He was devoted to his dogs; in fact, he said that if our dog of many years, Tiny, wasn't going to be in Heaven, he didn't want to be there either. Dad was devoted to his family. He demonstrated this in countless ways. We never doubted it. Dad was devoted to the Lord. He was always willing to serve the Lord by serving within the church and the community. A year and a half ago, he was in very poor health, and was unable to hold a calling himself, but Mom was asked to be Relief Society president. Mom, of course, was instantly very busy with this calling, and she was happy to serve, but she felt torn every time she had to leave Dad at home alone. One day she was expressing her feelings of guilt to Dad, and he said, "It's okay. It's my contribution to the cause." Number 4: Biased: Obviously, we, his sons and daughters, didn't know Dad before he served his mission to Hawaii, we just know that we were raised with the belief that anyone associated in any way with the islands of the South Pacific must be warm, friendly, loving, funny, kind, people. I've never known anyone who developed a stronger love for the people of his mission than Dad did. Number 5: Sensitive: Sensitive to beauty, sensitive to the Spirit, sensitive towards others' feelings. Sometimes this sensitivity was obvious, sometimes it was a little more below the surface, often his sensitivity and concerned extended to people he didn't even know. Example:  One morning several years ago, Dad told Mom he hadn't slept well because BYU had recruited a young Hawaiian football player whose name, when translated into English, meant something embarrassing. Dad had spent a sleepless night worried that people would find out what his name meant, and then tease him about it. Another example that demonstrates the sensitivity he felt towards the feelings of the Spirit: This morning as I was waking up I remembered a time back in high school when Dad was on the High Council. He was scheduled to speak one Sunday and had asked my sisters, Lana, Sandy, and me to perform a musical number. After we were finished with our song, instead of coming up to speak, he went up to the organist and asked her to play some interlude music. He then left the chapel. A few minutes later, he returned, went up to the pulpit and gave an explanation and an apology. He'd been so touched by the musical number, and so filled with love and appreciation for the gospel and for his family, that he had to leave to collect himself. Number 6: Proud. How many hundreds or even thousands of times did his children and his grand-children hear him say those words, "I'm so proud of you." But the source of his pride in us was not our worldly accomplishments, how much money or education we had, or what callings we held in church. I'll let his words explain what I mean. Years ago he wrote a letter that was meant for each of us; somehow it got set aside and was never sent, but Mom came across it again a few days ago. Here is an excerpt: "I want to say I am very, very proud of all of you, but to be proud is not good, so I say, I celebrate with you your goodness and the joy you must feel for your kindness, generosity and sensitivity to all people - - who are indeed our brothers and sisters." Number 7: Repentant. Dad wasn't perfect, and no one knew this better, or agonized over this more, than Dad himself did. Once again, here's an excerpt from the same letter: "I apologize for my failings, my impatience, my seeming lack of involvement at times. . . . I also want to apologize (or at least explain) what may appear to be a lack of appreciation for the church. If I have at times failed in providing spiritual leadership ad exercising my priesthood in behalf of my family, it is only because of a fear of appearing hypocritical. How can I be so explosive at times in a negative way and then a completely opposite humble and spiritual person? I have a hard time reconciling those two extremes and it pains me." I know that Dad believed in the Atonement, and he believed in repentance. I know that he called on the help of his Savior to help him overcome his shortcomings. I know that the Savior did help him, because as he grew older, it wasn't just that he "mellowed with age," or became a different person, he became more the person he truly was. More in control of his emotions, more softened and patient. The final line of the cinquain is supposed to be one word that epitomizes all that the person is. This is easy: Patriarch. The highlight of our family reunion last summer was when Dad, in great humility and with deep love, pronounced a father's and grandfather's blessing on his family. I want my children and my nieces and nephews to always remember the image of their grandpa bearing his testimony and expressing his profound love of his family and of the gospel. I know that his children who were present will never forget it. My twelve-year old son that I referred to a minute ago, wrote, in his letter to Dad, that Dad reminded him of Lehi. I know Dad would never compare himself in a favorable light to that great Book of Mormon patriarch, but, Dad, if you're listening now, know that that is the way at least one of your grandsons sees you. Dad ended his letter to his family with these words, "Thanks again for who you are and what you are to me. Love, Dad." Dad, "Thanks again for who you are and what you've been to us. We love you, too, Dad." Scott Orrock's, (her Dad)