Bob stood behind her, shrugged, and smiled.Īfter Betty died, I remember picking him up at the airport. I remember the time Betty – sitting in her wheelchair in their living room – retold the story about Bob trying to towel her off after her bath that morning. He somehow picked her up out of the car and put her in a wheelchair when most people his age couldn’t pick themselves out of a car. I remember watching him care for Betty, his wife of 57 years, after she suffered a debilitating stroke. I remember watching him fish off the back of his aluminum bass boat with his cane pole, staring at the lake while patiently waiting for a bite, and then meticulously fileting the bluegills and frying them in butter. I remember his teeth in a glass on the sink in the middle of the night when I got up to pee. Thanks to Bob I was the only kid my age who knew you never hit on 15 when the dealer was showing a six. I remember learning blackjack from him when I was ten. He was a great grandpa because he was a great grandpa, and not because he lived long enough for his grandchildren to have kids. Maybe how you feel about a person is a result of all those memories that you forgot.īob was a great grandpa. I spent so much time with him but I could only dig up enough memories to count on my hands.Īnd then a few days later, while folding laundry, I decided that maybe it’s not the number of memories you have about someone that’s most important. In the days after he died, it bothered me that I couldn’t recall a lot of memories involving him. Bob lived so long he was bald nearly four times longer than he had hair.īob lived so long that his adult grand children are now old enough to forget many of the memories we made with him. Bob lived so long his cardigans came back into style – twice. He had one beer every day at 5 o’clock until the doctors told him he no longer could.īob lived so long that he was retired for longer than he worked. He loved desserts, prime rib, reading books, fishing, and smiling at a pretty lady. He was my grandfather.īob was quiet and kind. Bob Herberger would have been 98 years old this week but he died last month in a nursing home in Texas.
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