My Grandpa
Bob
By Michael-Lee
My grandpa Bob spent 35 years in the armed forces, fighting for the freedom of our Country through WWII and Korea. He spent another 35 years working for Coca Cola. He was a hardworking blue collar man who provided for his family. When someone needed something, you knew he would help. Four grandchildren and five great grandchildren lived in his house, when they had no other place to go. He donated blood numerous times to children in need of blood.
When I was little, we would talk for hours every night about when he was a kid, how much he paid for a pound of chocolate, and what being in the service was like. He told so many stories I cant even remember them all. He had always been there when I need him to be, and I thought that he always would be. Bob had always had a sight problem and it sure made for some good stories. One time we were at President Truman's home and he walked into a room he wasn't supposed to be in, the alarms went off and the security people flew in from every which direction, and there he was - picking up Mrs. Truman dinner ware. He never even heard the buzzers. I remember that like it was yesterday. And for some reason Bob was always very cold. He would sleep with seventeen covers year round. He had so many covers that they would leave bruises on his legs. I never knew why, but I didn't think it mattered.
It was two months into my freshman year, and I had spent the night over at my grandparent's house. We always loved to play poker, and my grandpa beat the socks of me every time, but that night he couldn't see the cards in front of his face. I was worried but we thought he had probably had another stroke. He had supposedly had several. My grandma took him to the VA hospital and they turned her away without even looking at my grandpa saying nothing was wrong. It got worse and she went again and the same thing happened. Then, my grandmother was getting very scared, and was talking to my sister Michelle who was living at there house at the time. She called my mom and told her that Bob wasn't doing to good and that she was scared. It was two o'clock in the morning on a school night and my father came into my room, woke me up, and said that we were going over to my grandpa's house. I was very scared. We were on our way over and my dad told me that Bob wasn't doing to well. I started crying. We got over there and we went inside. Bob, Michelle, and Betty were in the kitchen. Bob was being his normal self, telling stories, and etc. When we were about to leave Bob came over gave me a big bear hug like he always did, and told me not to worry and that he would be all right. I cried most of the way home and went to bed.
It was a few days later and Betty had brought Bob to the eye doctor. He said that there was something definitely wrong and it had to do with more than his eyes. He wrote a note to the VA and told my grandma to give it to them. She did and he was admitted. He was fine the first day and my grandma was feeding him. He seemed kind of jumpy, I didn't know why. He got more jumpy and on the second or third day he was speaking very little, he had an IV, a cathoter, and eventually got a feeding tube in his nose. The nurses were horrible and never took care of him, he pulled out his feeding tube several times and he wouldn't even have been able to get it if they had tied him his hands right. We came in and the feeding tube had completely drenched him and his bed. We told the nurse's and they said they would clean it up after we left. They said it had only been out a couple of minutes. The IV at certain points wasn't even hooked up where it was supposed to be, it would drip on the floor. Half of the nurses didn't even know how to use the machines . He would flinch at every move. We got so many different opinions and diagnosis from cancer to a massive stroke.
The last words he spoke were "I want Betty" and "I want a bath". He died December 9th 1997. I cried so often after this that I don't even remember half of the things that were happening. He had told me not to be sad at his funeral and to be happy and glad, and for there to be plenty of food and drink. There wasn't and I was sad anyway. I would wake in the middle of the night having a dream about spending time with him only to wake up and know I would never see him again. Six months after he died I learned what he died from. The autopsy confirmed that he had CJD.
Bob was stolen from me before his time. He had much
more to live for. I will never forget him. I Love you Bob.
Sincerely, Michael-Lee