I Miss Bob. For What it's Worth.

I miss Bob. For what it’s worth, I still miss Bob. What a strange expression that is, “For what it’s worth.” It begs the question, I suppose. What is it worth? What is the value of the statement that I miss Bob? Still.

“I” miss Bob. Who he was, what we were, and what we had is unique to me. Others miss him, also, and their grief is as valid as mine. I’m not special in missing him, but I was special to him, and he was so to me. Whenever others attempt to describe me and us, I tend to wince. Nobody seems to get it, not that they need to. I don’t recall feeling that Bob was wrong about me. That he was confused or naive, even when I lied to him.

I “miss” Bob. There are moments when I sort of automatically want to share a thought or accomplishment with him, as I have done for the last 27 years. But he’s not here to share with. He’s not watching. He can’t encourage or discourage me. Not directly, anyway. Any influence he has on my life now comes from views he expressed from the past. And in general, he was a fan. “He liked me, he really liked me,” to paraphrase Sally Field. He wanted me to be happy, provided for, safe. And I wanted the same for him, which made it difficult to watch him suffer and live in a completely helpless state. Memories of my inability to ease his suffering haunt me even still.

I miss “Bob.” The person he was, the man, the companion, the athlete, the musician, the provider, the intellect; I got to see the totality of the individual. Bob had a strength of character few possess, or so it seems. Not that he was perfect by any means. Nor am I. His particular shortcomings? I enjoyed them too. Gave me a chance to provide or be strong for him. Am I mad that he never once did dishes in a quarter century? Have you seen my kitchen, in Hudson, overlooking a private lake...oh, that I designed and built and he wrote the check for? Hard to be mad at that. Did it bother Bob that he paid the bills? Have you seen the fabulous home cooked meals, housekeeping, laundry, car maintenance and the odd medical procedure he could totally rely on? Not that we kept score. 

Perhaps that is the secret, that we didn’t keep score. It is a rare commodity in a relationship. Even within my family, it’s more tit-for-tat. If I hadn’t known Bob I may have never discovered the distinction. I’ve actually ended relationships lately where people refused to be loyal and I refused to forgive. I’ll just spare them and me the pain. Of course I took a huge hit in each case, but that is also keeping score. I don’t recall any life lessons that Bob ever taught me actually costing me anything. For me knowing Bob as I did was always a gain, and not just monetarily. I can’t recall two days in our entire relationship when he didn’t call me. During his illness, I visited him every day. Okay, I missed 2 days. Nobody has ever been there for me in such a complete way, and, based on current events, no one ever will be again.

My mother would often tell me, back when we were on speaking terms, to hedge my bets, cover my bases. I needed a backup plan for the day that in her mind would inevitably arrive when Bob, who owned all the assets (I owned all the liabilities), would toss me out with nothing. Finally I had to tell her that if Bob no longer wanted me around, I was ready to go. I didn’t need anything he didn’t want me to have. It never happened, but I didn’t live in fear of it. I wasn’t actually in the relationship for monetary gain. And I survived having next to nothing before. I grew up that way.  She should recall that.

For the record, bribery doesn’t buy loyalty anyway. I did the research. Buy someone a car, shuttle them around to job interviews, trust them to make a $500 transaction in your absence, even handle the transfer of real estate or the legal filings to settle an estate, none of these outlays will necessarily equate to getting my needs met. But Bob met my needs. Was he perfect? Was I? Don’t clutter your mind with the inconsequential. Just know that I cared about Bob, regretted his suffering, and am sad that he’s gone. For what it’s worth.

I miss Bob.