We have been long time ward members with Grant and long time great friends. We were out of town when Grant died and did not learn of his death and funeral until after the fact. We very much wish we could have attended the funeral.

We have always had great respect for Grant and his family. We will miss Grant! But, at the same time, we rejoice that he is now freed from the shackles of disability. We are confident that he is happy and pain free.

Message from Polly Nelson

November 29, 2015 11:25 AM

When I first met Grant, he was visiting my family in Southern California. "Who is this blond god?" I must have thought, at 8 or 9. He seemed content to hang with the kids, walking to Speedy Mart, exploring the flood control. I remember a suitcase: whisky-colored leather, small, rectangular, with two straps like belts holding it closed. He—and his suitcase—seemed like something out of a novel, and not real-life.

Later, when I was a teen, I saw him occasionally on a Sunday afternoon in Grandpa Howard's backyard in Lindon. Grant and his brothers—the Bachelor Cousins, all the way from Salt Lake City!—would park on the street and walk across the lawn, as Grandpa stood with effort, delighted to see them. It was the 70s, but they were dressed like the Everly Brothers, in plaid short-sleeved shirts and tapered slacks. Kind, well-mannered, sincere...wholesome beyond imagination.

As an adult, I saw Grant at family reunions and funerals. There was always an awkward moment as I tried to hug him and he tried to shake my hand. He would politely ask if I were Polly or Sally. I, however, knew that he was Grant. He was more Himself than anyone I've ever known. He seemed to transcend time and place; he seemed oblivious to the notion of following a trend, of trying to impress, of being cool. He inhabited Grant-space in a way that seemed both stubborn and joyous.

Later, after three Homestead visits, the hug was less awkward, and the name issue had been resolved. Here on the land, I met Grant-in-his-element: purposeful, hard-working, innovative, even chatty. A couple of times, I found myself alone with him, walking the property. He listened well and laughed easily. I admired his focus, his easy shift into nostalgia, his utilitarian clothing. One night, a dozen of us sat around a campfire, talking and singing. We sang one verse of "Abide With Me" (my suggestion), but I wanted all the verses. I wanted: "Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day."

The last time I saw Grant was at Aunt Dorothy's funeral. He approached me at the cemetery, after the graveside service. "Do you have a car here?" he asked, surprising me. I did. We went for a ride, winding slowly through the cemetery, searching for a certain tree, or a certain child's grave, or both. I was alone in a small car with Grant, which seemed the most unlikely of scenarios. He was wearing a beautiful close-fitting suit (a fit that had recently come back into style), and I found myself thinking, "How old is that suit? Could that be his missionary suit?" I was a bit ruffled by the post-funeral adventure, and my fingers and the tip of my nose were beginning to feel numb, but Grant seemed perfectly comfortable. I have a theory: I think that—to Grant—I was a composite of myself and Nola. Because time and space could be shrugged off, I could be almost 20 years his junior while still being a buddy from his childhood and teen years. At one point, I carefully explained that I'd left the LDS church, but he seemed able to shrug that off, also.

He mentioned, as we sat in the parked car in the dappled light of the cemetery, that he had some hand-written poems (or stories) that he'd like typed, and he'd heard that I did that kind of thing. "Yes! Of course! I'd love to!" I said that I'd come to his house (his parents' house) and pick them up, and he agreed to that plan. But I never went. I never typed his poems (or stories). I kept putting it off, and at some point realized it was too late. Maybe someone else typed them. If not, I'd be happy to do so. Even though it's too late.

Message from Robert Wood

November 28, 2015 10:17 PM

From my very first Sunday School class with Grant teaching the young men in the East Millcreek 2nd Ward, I knew he was special. He has been an inspiration to me my whole life. His kindness and goodness have always emulated the great Master Teacher. Our condolences to the Birkeland family and our love and hope in the glories of eternity.
Love, Rob Wood and family

Message from home

November 28, 2015 3:02 PM

He was such a nice looking man. He looked so much like my son when he was younger. My son too is Norway ancestors. His family too had Parkinson's in their medical history. His dad loved doing gardening. He did accounting work and was LDS too. My family lives is in the same ward house and have lived on Hillside Circle for 60 years. So very sorry for Grant's loss.

Message from David G. Feil

November 28, 2015 11:19 AM

Sympathy to all the Birkelands in Grant's passing. I remember him in his youth running every where he went. Often that was past our home just up the street (3471 S.). He was a man of integrity and goodness from what I knew of him. May all of you take comfort in the knowledge you have of our Savior's love and atonement for us.
David and Margrit Feil

Message from Edie May Woodland Morgan

November 28, 2015 10:46 AM

I am sorry to hear about the passing of a great man. The Birkeland family is a legend in that East Millcreek Neighborhood. I am happy to know that Cliff and others welcomed him home. I love the Birkeland family and appreciate their influence in my life. We are sorry for your loss.
Love a fellow East Millcreek Stake friend

Message from Kathryn Cahoon

November 27, 2015 2:13 PM

Dear Birkelands,
I am so sorry for this loss! I know how important Uncle Grant was in your lives. I also know that you know the Plan, and will take great comfort in that. Praying the Lord's tenderest blessings will attend you!
Love,
Kathryn Cahoon