The first book that I signed and eagerly handed away to was Bob. Bobby to some friends, so I have heard. I didn't have the pleasure of knowing him for very long, he was running out of time...
I listened alot, watched him with others. He was unique, a marvel in this sometimes bleak world of ours.
Bob made you laugh.
His past was chalk full of color.
Derived from any subject arose a hell of a story, as a writer I sat back and often thought "wow" how lucky am I to be hearing this?
Bob wasn't simply loved. He was adored, and I remark openly that there is a vast difference between the two.
Cantankerous he surely was, though even in this he amused and delighted with his wit.
My son believed him to be Bob Segar because he rode a motorcycle and held himself with such a demeanor as one would feel that larger than life presence- even to a 5 year old.
This made him laugh.
His best friend shared many stories of him and watching the two together was a wonder...
The sentences that didn't quite complete themselves before the laughter ensued.
The depth of caring that only the very best of friends know...
His wife counted everyday as a blessing and openly said so- to which he'd reply "yeah, me too" except his eyes danced when he said it, and he meant it.
He loved her with more than promise, with a true, open heart.
He pseudo daughter who lives next door would visit with him as time allowed- always making the time.
Funny thing about Bob.
He held full comprehension of time- its demise to friendships, family and the heart.
So he rushed towards the embrace of it all.
The call came in around 5 am.
You know the call that no one ever wants to hold to their ear
"It's Bob"
I watched as one by one family and friends raced against the clock to be there for Bob.
That rapidly turned into a rush to be there to say goodbye.
His daughter in law though devastated held his hand, warmed him- as he detested being cold. She raised his spirit and of those in the room by her words of conversation to him.
Bob would've smiled.
Probably laughed.
Bobs sister was angry. Life was leaving her beloved brother, and the unfairness of it all brought anger to the surface. She wanted to fight for him, just wake him up from the stasis. How dare he leave us all.
I understood.
I would've fought for a love like that as well we all would.
Bob would've been proud.
Bobs brother and cousin stoically held everyone up and connected with the gatherers.
They loved this man and between the tears and pain
laughed at the past revels.
Who else would laugh with you as you found your peace?
Only brothers, only shared hearts.
His sons were amazing.
They provided their step mother with respect, dignity
and their father?
A most brilliant release.
Their love was evident in the sorrow,
honest in their grief
and the depth of love which would be carried on through they two
Witnessing this
you just knew that Bobs heart wasn't going anywhere.
When the love of his life said her goodbyes
through the door the guttural sobbing took us all to that place where no one, and I mean no one ever desires to go to.
Love is funny that way
bringing us life one moment
than killing us in the next.
Bob lived his life to the fullest
he loved. No I mean it. HE LOVED.
We all looked on as the nurse proclaimed that he was gone.
I don't believe that anyone who knew him bought into that.
How could they?
Sure, his body had been relinquished to death
but his heart?
No way.
Hell no.
If anyone could get out of this one, surely it was this man.
He didn't believe in heaven per say, but what he did believe in was the here and now.
Here, he made a better place
Now, a saddened one.
But tomorrow?
I'm fairly certain that we'll all see him revel,
live on through everyone that he touched throughout his life, and of those there were many.
As we all began to leave the room, the consensus was unanimous.
We were all lucky, in different measure.
Some had years
some a few weeks
some a lifetime
but wasn't grand?
Wasn't it a grand life Bob?
Opus Dei
(The work of God)
Blessed are we to have shared your last breath.
from my hand to yours,
deeply saddened,
Sawyer
Saint Andrews
