Gratitude Monday: Noble heart and gentle manner

I was devastated this weekend to open a Christmas card from my friend Edna with an enclosure letting me know that her husband Bob was dying and not expected to last the night. Multiple organ failure from multiple causes, some of them long-standing. 

Edna summed him up beautifully: “He was a decent, caring man with a noble heart and gentle manner. I can hardly remember a life before him nor can I imagine a life without him.”

I can’t picture Edna without Bob. When I first met them, they were dating—Edna and I were Sherlockians (which is a bit like Trekkies, but without the aliens). Bob was an accountant, with a lot of the attributes you’d associate with that: quiet, unassuming, blah, blah, blah. But completely laid back, with an exceptionally sharp mind and a wicked sense of humor. And he’d do anything for Edna, including going to costume balls dressed up as a character from the Holmes stories.

And, lord, could he tell a tale. You should have heard him telling the one about a fellow resident of the apartment building he once lived in in LA—the guy who’d on occasion get tanked, step out onto his balcony and shout, “I am the great Filipino god!”

They got married in my senior year of college. A lapsed Catholic and a non-practicing Jew—the ceremony was performed by an Episcopal priest who was part of our scion society (The Loungers and Idlers of Empire, if you’re asking). I vaguely recall the reception. Bob probably didn’t give a toss about the particulars; he was marrying Edna and that’s all that mattered to him.

They used to have me over for dinner a lot while I still lived in LA. The conversation was always stimulating, entertaining and educational. I got such different perspectives on things.

As I mentioned, Bob had left Judaism behind long before he traded New York for LA. (Edna was the one who made sure that the menorah was up alongside the Christmas tree, and that the Seder dinner had all the requisite components.) He thought people put too many artificial barriers between them, and once said, “Everyone should just marry everyone else until we’re all beige-colored and don’t believe in any religion.”

I do think that notion has considerable merit, especially if we end up as kind and generous as Bob.

He was a huge Star Trek fan; when Star Trek: The Motion Picture came out, Edna and I went with him to see it the first week it hit the theatres. And, oh—it was such a dog; when the lights came up Bob looked kind of stunned and…betrayed, in a way.

Shortly afterwards, Edna and I wanted to see Polanski’s Tess, so Bob went along. When the lights came up after it was finally over, he turned to us and said, “We’re even.”

About eight years ago, I had a calendar printed up using photos I’ve taken over the years—the UK, France, Reston, Canada, Minnesota, Italy, Oregon… I gave it to people as Christmas gifts, and was astonished that no one—no one—twigged to the fact that they were my pictures. I mean—Reston? Where I lived?

No one, that is, except Bob. As I understand it, the conversation went something like this:

Edna: Look at these pictures—all these different places. I wonder who the photographer is?

Bob: I think [Bas Bleu] took them.

Edna: No—they have to be by someone…

Bob: Well, we have this picture of that church in Minnesota on our wall, and [Bas Bleu] took that, so…

Edna: No, there must be a photographer’s name here somewhere.

I about wet myself when I heard that exchange. It was so…so Bob: he recognized straight away that if one of the shots was mine, the rest had to be; but he wasn’t invested in being right, Even when he was.

I wish I had a photo of him to share with you, but there are some friends whose presence is so vividly imprinted on your memories that you just never take pictures. And even if you did, a two-dimensional representation isn’t adequate.

In recent years, Bob had been ill—badly ill; but he steadfastly refused to go gentle into that good night. Until now. Even the strongest heart can’t withstand the assaults forever.

I am so grateful that I knew Bob, that I benefited from his friendship, expanded my horizons through his perspective, took comfort from his encouragement, appreciated his generosity and shared so many laughs with him.

If there’s a Bob in your life, step away from your device right now and give him a call or a hug. He’s the most precious thing imaginable.