Barry Grosscup

My big brother.  Barry Paul Grosscup, his middle name after our father.  Born 22 months before me.  Blond hair.  Eyes - I honestly can’t tell you what color his eyes are.  Isn’t that interesting?  His wife Susan says they are blue.  To me, they were the color of mischief, a shade of “up to something,” a tinge of “trouble.”  I actually think they are green, like mine.

Growing up wedged between 2 brothers, I learned to get along with them from childhood, being a tomboy when needed.  Barry was always smart, and determined, and brave.  We were kids of the 1960’s - we ran and played outside as much as possible, made up adventures in the corn field and old barn behind our house, played cards, read the comics, watched the Wonderful World of Disney on Sunday nights.  I brought out my Barbies to play with their GI Joes.  We got a German Shepherd when we were kids and my brothers were always roughhousing with him.  Lots of friends in the neighborhood.  Our family wasn’t perfect, but we had a good childhood.  We were loved - no one spoke it, but we knew we were.  Our dad got both my brothers interested in motorcycles at a young age, and they’d ride together in fields and kept this interest into their adulthood.

But, oh, the 1960’s and everything that came along with that - a lot of crazy times, and I don’t think our parents were prepared or really had a clue how sneaky we became.  Barry was the leader of the pack, and I his adoring follower, Dave coming along behind.

And then, when he was just 14, he started to get weak, finally so weak our dad had to carry him out to the car to take him to the hospital.  He developed juvenile diabetes, and back in 1969, managing it was a challenge.  I remember when they gave him an orange and a syringe so he could practice giving needles.  To the end, Barry had a phobia about needles, something he had to use on himself every single day of his life.  But diabete
s may have saved him, just maybe, because he told us he was getting ready to run away somewhere - who knows where or why, it was the 1960’s.  Woodstock.  Rock and Roll.  “Freedom”. The Vietnam War.  A lot of crazy.

Barry was a trendsetter - he grew his wavy blond hair out, had that rebellious gleam in his eye, and I was sure that he was the one who started the fad of wearing flannel shirts back in junior high.  I was friends with my brothers friends.  And we were always up to something, Barry most often leading the way.  He took me to my very first concert to see Chuck Berry.  He drove me and my girlfriends places - advantages of having an older brother.

He loved his Harley Davidson motorcycle, and his cars - at different points,  a Mustang Mach IV, a yellow Volkswagen Beetle, an El Camino, a truck.  He enjoyed rock and roll and especially Southern Rock - he gave his son Derek the middle name Marshall after the Marshall Tucker Band.  When his hands worked well, he could draw anything, right out of his head - he could have easily made a living as a cartoonist.  He wrote poems too, like our mom, and played guitar.

Fast forward - a lot of hard years in between.  Diabetes and hard living and then rheumatoid arthritis ruined his joints and took a toll on his body.  But Barry was a fighter and many times when we thought it was the end of the line for him, he surprised us all.  Pancreatis almost got him twice.

He met Susan in 2012 and after some years, backed off the hard living and settled down and married her.  What an incredible blessing she is!  And we basically got our brother back.  Through some really terrible times when our dad developed dementia in 2019, both my brothers rallied around and stood beside me like two rocks, strong and stable and holding me up when my emotions and the circumstances aiming to destroy me wanted to swallow me up, and linking arms with me to try and protect our dad.  That whole awful chapter in our family
bonded the three of us together so strong, with my 2 sisters-in-law also rallying in.

Ever since 2020 when we lost our dad, we’ve had a text chat going.  My brothers would ping-pong back and forth a lot of silliness, inherited from the wit of our great grandfather Daddy Raleigh, and our grandmother, Grandear.  I would always say I was so glad to have my brothers and have our chat.  They’d talk about the Ravens, and the 3 of us would text through the O’s games.  I never, ever took this for granted.

My big brother was Mr. Chill - he didn’t let things rattle him.  He didn’t complain about his health, even at times when he was enduring a lot of pain.  It wasn’t until the last few weeks that he finally let it leak out - my brother Dave and I paid attention and were concerned.  He was a fighter, but the battle with his body finally took it’s toll.  He almost made it to 69.  But he’s bone tired and weary and finally, finally, he can let go of the pain.

Go rest high on that mountain, big brother.  I know you are entering into the rest that Jesus provided you through His sweet salvation, and I am so thankful for that.  I know, as Dave says, Mom will be the first one to greet you.

I’m going to miss you terrible. But I know it’s time to let you go.  I love you, Barry, and I hear you in my head saying, “Hey, sis.”  I will always hear that.

Barry is survived by his loving wife, Susan (Belleville) Grosscup; son, Derek Talross and wife, Gaelle; step-children, Kristi Dunbar and husband, Chris, John Forsong and wife, Judy and Tim English and wife, Brooke; sister, Wendy Mullins; brother, C. Dave Grosscup and wife, Julie; grandchildren, Auralie, Eleanor, Ashley, Isabella, JR, Lauralee, Caleb, Cody, Casey, Emily, Grace, Christian and Gemma.