A Final Farewell

Robert Bowden, Bob to his friends and relatives, Papa to his grandchildren, was a powerful man, with a distinguished professional career, and a wonderful human.

I have several blissful memories of him in his prime. As a child, every other summer, for two weeks, I would go to Chicago to be with Papa and Grandma Bun. During these trips, I would get to spend time with him at his office. I remember that he had several secretaries, and if I behaved, I could help them with everyday tasks, like stuffing envelopes. It sounds mundane, but I thought it was cool (only the way a child can). Then came lunch time. He always asked me what I wanted to do, and my answer was always the same: Go to Popye’s Chicken (I had a much less discerning pallet back then) and then to the observation deck of the Sears’ Tower. Once we reached the 103rd floor, I was always very excited. Even if the downtown skyline was obscured by cloud cover, I could always take solace in watching the toilet water move, due to the building swaying back and forth.

I also remember getting to go with him to his gym. After the work day was done, we would head to the athletic center he belonged to. I loved swimming, and his health club had an olympic size pool. After swimming, we would work out. Well, he would work out, and I would attempt to understand the equipment. He would try to help me to use the various devices, but all I really wanted was to return to the pool.

Then there were the stories of his past. He and Grandma once spent an evening in San Francisco, atop a hotel just one room away from where the fledgling United Nations was being formed. Imagine that. You, your wife, and another close couple are having dinner just one room away from where the world leaders are forming the United Nations.

He flew fighter planes off of an aircraft carrier, during World War II, and his sole mission was to sink enemy submarines. His ‘Tiger’ squadron was extremely successful, although some of the memories from those days gone by, haunted him.

He had an interesting train ride from Missouri to Illinois. He was riding in the first class carriage, heading home from a meeting at a branch office. He eventually discovered that the only other passenger in his car, was none other than Duke Elington. They had a very pleasant conversation for the remainder of their journey, and even exchanged Christmas cards.

Eventually, he retired in what was to be his ultimate dream: A well to do golf course community, where he could spend his later years playing golf, a serious passion of his. Unfortunately, after several years in this paradise, a series of strokes robbed him of his ability to play golf, walk, and to do most of the everyday things we all take for granted.

Eventually, he ended up in a nursing home, unable to care for himself, in even the smallest detail. Another series of small strokes continued to rob him of the very basics of life. He even lost the ability to read. He eventually needing antidepressants to cope with his new reality. Those of us who held him most dear, were silently wishing for his end. I know I shouldn’t have said that, but it’s how I felt. I even said it out loud.

It was a selfish wish. I couldn’t stand to remember the man I knew and loved, while contrasting him to the person he had become. After his initial introduction into the nursing home, I thought he would get better. Sadly, I was wrong. He began to go down a road that would not end in recovery. He slowly, agonizingly slowly, got worse.

Prior to his final stay in the nursing home, he was able to watch his two daughters grow, create families and careers of their own, know and love his three grandchildren, and start to know his great grandson.

This man had so many experiences and adventures that cannot be cataloged at this time. Perhaps, his exploits will be put to print as the years pass.

I find myself at a crossroads. All of my grandparents have now passed. However, this one was different. While I deeply miss him, I am also glad that his suffering is finally at an end. It’s hard to grapple with, but I know that his pain is finally over. My tears are secondary. His departure happened literally 364 days after his wife, Grandma Bun, passed. My grandfather’s ordeal is mercifully done.

Yesterday morning my Papa died.