I'll miss you, Bob...

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Sometimes, we are fortunate enough to meet people to whom we take an immediate liking and for reasons we can never put into words. I met such a person about four years ago when I was working as a Vocational Teacher at Fieldstone Farm Therapeutic Riding Center. His name was Bob Sposito, but everyone called him ‘Spo’ and he was President of the Board at the time. I knew him because he came to the farm almost every week to help with the grass cutting. He rode the John Deere for hours, happy to help with the mundane chores, which was a small portion of all the things he did to aid the Farm in achieving its admirable mission.

He had an easy manner, a winning smile and a kind word that made everyone like him. He’d bring doughnuts along for the other volunteers, but always kept one out for my brother Jim, the head maintenance guy for the farm. Jim kept ‘Spo’s’ lawnmower in peak operating condition and only let the most competent and careful students use it when Spo wasn’t there.

He was a proud man and when his body was ravaged by cancer and, for a time, he needed help maintaining the yard around his home, he reluctantly asked Jim for help. Last summer, Jim was finding it difficult to make it there and asked me if I’d fill in for him. I gladly did.

I spent many hours with Bob that summer, cleaning out gutters, power washing his deck, painting the back porch, cleaning and washing the windows and screens, pruning trees, moving mulch and, most importantly, rebuilding the roof on the tool shed his son had built over 20 years ago. I would come on Saturday mornings and he’d have a cup of coffee and some pastry waiting. We’d gripe about the Indians and discuss the current events of the previous week before moving on to the chores of the day. It was the only civilized way to approach work. He and his wife, Mimi, took meticulous care of their home and it inspired me to try and achieve perfection with anything I did for him. Though he had been weakened by the cancer, he still insisted on helping me wherever he could. I was doing the tasks he used to do and to some degree I know it bothered him to see me doing them when he couldn’t. I tried to get his help whenever I could, but looked to do as much as possible when he wasn’t observing so that he wouldn’t try to do it when I wasn’t around.

This past summer, he became worse. I reminded him that I was running in the park almost every day and would be happy to stop at any time for any small task that needed to be done. “I’ll work for a diet Snapple Iced Tea,” I told him and he took me up on it on a number of occasions. I was always so happy when he called because I wanted to do these things for him. My own father had died less than two years ago and I missed the opportunity to help and visit with him. Bob had become that second father for me…but a tremendous friend, as well.

A couple of weeks ago, he called to inform me that he was going in the hospital for some work and didn’t think he could make our scheduled Saturday meeting. “Just leave the list and I’ll get the work done, Bob,” I told him. Mimi met me at the house and went over the things that needed to be done. When I inquired about visiting him, she told me he had deteriorated to the point that he really didn’t want visitors…talking was difficult “and you know how much he likes to talk, John,”. She left me there to do the work and headed for the hospital. I headed for the shed, but was suddenly overcome with emotion and had to sit for awhile and wipe away the tears. I sensed I would never see or speak to him again.

That Monday, he called from his hospital bed. I could hear the weakness in his voice but was thrilled to hear it none the less. We talked about the stamps he wanted me to have and the work that still needed to be done. I assured him that I would always be there to help him, but I really needed him at home because I had so many important things to discuss with him. “Jim needs you, too, you know,” I reminded. He thanked me profusely for all I had done for him, not understanding that it was he that had done so much for me in allowing me to enter his life and help in my small way. He had made me a better person by simply being around him…he had that gift.

I wrote him a letter and tried to express my feelings and what time with him had meant to me and Jim. I brought it to Mimi and she took it to him at the hospital. Then I left for the Adirondacks.

At some point as I struggled up the final feet on my way to the summit of Skylight Mt., Bob breathed his last. When I returned to the car and cell phone reception, I found a message from Jim informing me that “Bob played his last round.” Mimi had left a message later saying she had tried to contact me, but when I didn’t answer after numerous tries, she left the voice mail. “The letter you wrote meant so much to him, John,” she said.

So…as we all do, I lost a good friend and an important influence, though that remains. He meant so much to so many with all the charitable work he did and the kind and giving spirit he possessed. I can only hope to be half the man he was…he truly inspired. Don’t worry, Bob, whenever Mimi needs help, Jim and I will be there. You can count on it.

No workout. Hip is a mess.