Barbara Jean Grinstead

Barbara Jean Grinstead (BJ)

Daughter, student, graduate, wife, aunt, sister, mother, grandma, great-grandma, Mocka, cancer survivor, and a stranger to no one.

Barbara’s fondest name and title, Mocka, was given to her by her grand-daughter who was unable to say Grandma.

Mocka, who spent most of her life in Mile High, came into this world on April 05, 1936. She graduated from North High School in June of 1954 in Denver, Colorado. Mocka married, divorced, and had three children all in the shadow of the Mile High Town.

“What the mind can’t remember, the heart never forgets.”

Mocka left this world on 16 November 2020 at the age of 84 and will be greatly missed. She leaves behind her three children; Don, Mary Lou, and Sharon; seven grandchildren, Donovan, Seth, Orlando, Justin, Chariesa, Brianna, and Joslyn; and five and a half great-grandchildren; Evelyn, Ethan, Snow, Emaline, Kozette, and Eohine. Mocka will be laid to rest at Crown Hill Cemetery on 09 December 2020.

Mocka called her last real job, which was working as a Safeway Produce Buyer, an accountant. She loved going to the local farmers to talk about various commodities, such as corn, potatoes, and beans.

If there is a phrase that would define Mocka, it would be “Oh Sh*t." Often called her favorite expression, it meant that, in one way or another, life was about to get interesting. Her children quickly learned it was the signal for them to go hide because they knew they were about to get in trouble. She hated the word “sorry.” In her response to it, she would repeat “sorry,” add her favorite word, and instantly you would know you should have thought of what you were doing before enacting an action that would make you feel the need to say “sorry.”

Mocka loved life and shared that affection for it with those around her. She always looked for the positive in everyone and wanted them to know happiness. She was the nucleolus for positive energy.

Mocka was very active in the lives of her offspring, family, friends, church, high school, and the Colorado Historical Society. She knew every detail about the people she met or others she interacted with. We once stopped in the middle of Wyoming to fill up our vehicle and Mocka jumped out of the car to go to someone she knew. To her, there were no strangers. She knew others' birthdays, family linage, employment history, and could carry on a lengthy conversation on the interest of the individual she was talking to. Who needs Google when you have Mocka.