Some Sad News

I got one of those calls on Friday night that you always, in the back of your mind, expect to receive but are still never prepared when it does happen. My close friend John died Friday morning in a California hospital from an aortic aneurysm. He was 85 years old.

Growing up, I had always known about John and Pearl Robb. John's sister Rachel was my great-aunt through marriage, and she and her husband Maurice lived right next door to my grandparents Cliff and Alma Saboe in West Union. Every so often, I'd see them when they'd come to visit Rachel, and after they retired, my folks and I would visit them as they traveled from coast to coast in their RV. Their daughter Teresa was my mom's roommate in college her freshman year at the University of Minnesota and was in my mother's wedding. Both Teri and Neil and their daughters and John and Pearl eventually relocated to the Bay Area. So, when I learned I had a job volunteering for AmeriCorps in Berkeley following my graduation from Iowa State, staying for "a couple days" at John and Pearl's home while I looked for a place to live sounded like a great idea. Two days later, John asked me if I wouldn't mind living with them for the entire year. I happily agreed.

The three of us got along swimmingly --- Pearl and I would stay up late quilting or listening to country music, and John would cuss at me to get out the house faster on Friday and Saturday nights to meet up with friends so that I wouldn't miss out on all the men. He'd fuss about my "tomcatting around" and told me several times he expected to read about my shenanigans in the paper the next morning or receive a call from me in jail. And if I wasn't careful, I'd get a whack or two from his cane. A member of the Navy during WWII, he would yell and curse at me like the best of sailors, pretending to be disgusted while his eyes were laughing. The three of us made trips to the coast, went eating at Harry's Hofbrau nearby, and drove to doctors' visits numerous times. John and Pearl asked to join my holiday white elephant gift exchange with my friends and bought me roses on my birthday when I learned I was accepted in to medical school. They both loved young people and keeping track of what trouble I was getting myself in to. The three of us always had a hard time explaining who I was --- depending on the day, I was their daughter, granddaughter, niece, great-niece, family friend ... or Bob. I learned a great deal from them both about the meaning of family, hard work, love, commitment, and loss.

In the summer of 2003, I decided to defer my entry in to medical school and move to New York City to essentially play for the year before hitting the books. In the end, that couldn't have been a wiser decision. John had a quadruple bypass performed in July 2003, and I was able to stay an extra month to help him recover and take care of Pearl. I sorted his meds, made him ventilate on his "breathing machine" (He got particularly growly at this.), loaded a walker and a wheelchair in the trunk on our way to doctors' appointments, cooked bland food, and forced him to walk a few feet outside (just had to make sure I was out of cane's reach ...). As you can imagine, leaving that year just after Labor Day was very hard to do, and my eyes weren't dry until I made it to Bakersfield ... several hours down the road.

In each of the three times I was able to make it back west to visit since I left, the three of us had just as much fun as we did when I was there. In life, it's nice to know that some things never do change.

John Robb was an ornery man with a big heart. He was grateful for his life with Pearl, his children, grandchildren, and great-granddaughters and made a point to say it often. He told me often that he was a pretty lucky man in what he'd experienced in his travels and in the people he had met and called friends over his lifetime. And he sure didn't mind telling you a Navy tale or two ... or three ... that would make me laugh until I cried. I see a lot of John in the old men I care for in clinic these days, and they always make me smile ... just like John did.

I went through several kleenexes Friday night and had a hard time falling asleep. But if he were still here, he'd be telling me to "get the hell over it and move on" ... sound advice that he gave me on several other occasions. He could be crusty, but he lived the length of his life well and cared deeply for others, including some tall, Iowa gal who showed up at his house five years ago in an '89 Dodge Grand Caravan. He cursed several times that day about how much stuff I'd packed along.

I'm sure going to miss him.