Mr. Bob died two years ago.
I barely knew him yet I often think of him.
I met Mr. Bob a few years before his death while making monthly visits to Evangeline Oaks nursing home to offer Holy Eucharist. Bob was in his mid 80’s and was born with Cerebral Palsy. He never married, held a job, or drove a car. He lived and was supported by his family for his entire life. His body was wracked, and speech garbled.
In his little corner of the room he shared was a small collection of worn photos of young boys in their little league baseball uniforms. After introducing myself, I asked him about the photos. In his strained effort to speak, he shared his love of baseball and passion for coaching the underprivileged boys in the community.
When we first met, Mr. Bob could walk on his own. He made his way to the activity room for Communion Service. Not long after, he required a walker and soon thereafter could not leave his room without assistance. I began going to his room to offer Eucharist.
Some of the times when I would visit Mr. Bob’s room, his younger brother, Gerald, was visiting. Their devotion toward each other was obvious. There were these random moments where they spoke to each other in a “call and response.” One would say, “Not my will but thine be done!” and the other would respond, “Not my will be thine be done!.” I am not sure which of the brothers would start it or trigger it; maybe pain, doubt, maybe a need for comfort and assurance. I heard this on practically every visit in which his brother Gerald was there. And to this day, I can still replay the call and response in my mind’s eye, “Not my will, but thine be done!”
Here is someone who did not experience the many advantages I had and continue to have in life. I did not pity Mr. Bob but was amazed, “Not my will but thine be done!”
Mr. Bob would light up when I entered the room, especially when seeing the vessels of the Eucharist. We would make our pleasantries and come together for a shared prayer before Eucharist. After a brief moment of silence, we could chit-chat a bit. Despite his extreme disabilities, he was an image of exuberance that always uplifted me and left me eager to see him again.
On one occasion, I entered his room, his bed was empty, and his belongings were gone. I was told he had a stroke and was at the hospital.
Later that day, I went to the hospital. His brother Gerald was with him. Mr. Bob was awake but unable to verbalize. The most he could do was moan and grunt a bit. I told him that he was a holy man and an inspiration to me. And that God’s Holy Spirit would take care of him.
After some time, Mr. Bob returned to the nursing home. He could no longer speak legibly, was bedridden, and kept nourished with a feeding tube. He could no longer receive Eucharist. Instead, I would pray with him aloud or gently sing a church hymn. I would hold the Eucharist above him and affirm his receiving of Christ. I can still see his body animate with a groaning of excitement and spirit.
Before ending the visit, I would gesture a blessing, telling him, “Mr. Bob, you are a blessed and holy man. You still have something to give to the rest of us; thank you!” I may have been the one gesturing a blessing, but I knew it was he who was blessing me. There was a sense in me that I was witnessing a living saint. And I still believe so.
After his stroke, Mr. Bob lived for another eighteen months bedridden, flat on his back and on a feeding tube. Unable to talk and yet deeply communicated.
I attended Mr. Bob’s funeral mass and was able to tell his brother Gerald how inspired I was by his brother. I was the only white man at his funeral.
Aristile “Bob” Lilly (1932 – 2019)
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“The real question before our death, then, is not, how much can I still accomplish, or how much influence can I still exert? but, how can I live so that I can continue to be fruitful when I am no longer here among my family and friends? That question shifts our attention from doing to being. Our doing brings success, but our being bears fruit.
The great paradox of our lives is that we are often concerned about what we do or still can do, but we are most likely to be remembered for who we were. If the Spirit guides our lives—the Spirit of love, joy, peace, gentleness, forgiveness, courage, perseverance, hope, and faith—then that Spirit will not die but will continue to grow from generation to generation“ (Ron Rolheiser).
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Our Greatest Gift: Fruitfulness
For the last several years of Mr. Bob’s life, I visited him for just a few brief moments each month. Yet his life remains present and fruitful. And reading his obituary, I am not alone, for which this holds.
Mr. Bob was not born with an athletic body to play sports. He was not free to travel the world. He did not experience marriage and the joys of raising his own children. His academic and employment opportunities and income earnings were severely limited through the nine decades of his life. Yet, I witnessed no bitterness nor regret in him. Instead, what I experienced was his spirit and desire to do God’s will and not his own – especially at life’s painful end.
I believe we all walk the same path as Mr. Bob, a “letting go” of earthly attachments. Mr. Bob got an early start. He had 80+ years of accepting his circumstances and “letting go” of the many things most of us think we are owed in this life. He did not have the luxury of grabbing onto many earthly attachments he would later have to let go of. Perhaps this is where the gift of Wisdom that he lived and shared came from.
At our final death, which is our common destiny, we must let go of our bodies and bank accounts, our thinking and beliefs, our likes and dislikes, our “feel good” accomplishments, recognitions, and regrets, even the clothes in our closets. Yet, most of us do not start thinking of this “letting go” until late in life.
This “letting go” does not mean “giving up.”
Quite the contrary. To let go of earthly attachments that no longer serve is to expand and extend “space” in one’s being for “new life” for self and the deepening of relationship with the Beloved and others.
Mr. Bob was a model for how I wish to understand the remainder of my life and its ultimate death. I’d rather the “letting go” of earthly attachments be undertaken through choice so that what remains is what only death can tear away.
To give not only one’s life but also one’s death is the fullness of the spiritual journey. It is no less than Jesus’ own passage through the cross and resurrection. It takes a lifetime to complete and until then each moment is a struggle, but in Mr. Bob, I have seen that it is humanly and divinely possible.
Reflection: Who are the people in your life who have passed on – yet their gift of life, still bears fruit in your life?
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