About a month ago I met Bob JEnisson while on assignment. The Midland Daily News was doing a story on a hospice care facility in Bay City called Brian's House. Bob was the resident chosen for the story.
I hung out with Bob while he visited with his daughters, then stuck around for a couple of hours after they left. We sat in the small cafeteria talking mostly about his life, but a little about death. With a sadness and longing in his voice, Bob mentioned that his wife, Judie, had died about a year ago and that he was looking forward to seeing her again. I couldn't help but to imagine how wonderful Judie must have been and how pure a love must be to bring a man to tears just mentioning her name.
It wasn't that Bob was happy about death; he was grateful for the time he has, but accepting of the inevitable we all face.
My first visit with Bob came to a close with a promise to come back and check in from time to time.
Last week I received a message from Bob's daughter, Michelle. She told me that Bob's condition had worsened and he was on oxygen, spending most of his time in bed. She said that he'd like to see me and that I probably shouldn't wait too long. Two days later I entered room105 at Brian's House to find Bob sound asleep in his bed. I took a seat in the rocking chair in his room. I sat for 20 minutes or so and decided to leave a note.
Bob,
Just wanted to stop
by to say hi. You seem to
be sleeping well so I don't ...
A phone rang, interrupting my note. Bob woke and began fumbling with his cell phone to answer the call. I helped him open the phone and after he finished his call we began to talk. He showed me the Speed Graphic camera his father used and an 8-by-10 black and white print his father took of Dwight D. Eisenhower waving from the back of a train during his presidential campaign. He also showed me a print of himself as a child sitting on the lap of Mrs. Fitzhugh, a woman who used to live in the apartment above Bob's family and who used to make him tapioca pudding.
After a while I asked Bob how he was doing and he hinted toward not well. "My life is over and I'm kind of glad about that," Bob said, almost instantly contradicting that statement by saying how he'd started thinking about how hard it was going to be to leave his children and grandchildren.
I said goodbye for the second time again with a promise of returning to check in and to bring photos I had taken of the two of us together.
On the following day, Friday, March 7, I returned on my way to shoot hockey in Plymouth and then go to Kentucky for a photography workshop. I peeked into room 105 to find Bob visiting with his grandson, Justin Jennison Luczak. I learned that Justin has his grandfather's last name as his middle name so that the family name would not be lost since Bob had no sons. I also learned that Bob spells his last name with the second letter capitalized as well. It is little details like this you learn only through spending time without a camera to your face. It's these details that make my job special and so rewarding.
I was pressed for time and kept telling Bob I had to go, but each time I said it I'd linger and he'd begin another story. At the last moment possible without being late to my assignment I told Bob I had to go and paused. I couldn't take a step. Truthfully I feared this might be our last visit. "Well why ain't you going?" Bob asked sarcastically, knowing the answer. "I don't want to." "I know you don't want to go, and I don't want you to go, but you got to. You gotta do your job."
I left with a promise to stop by and check in from time to time, and writing this now I am grateful for the friendship Bob and I have, and for this job I gotta do.
i got a call a few minutes ago from bob's daughter michelle letting me know that bob had passed away yesterday. he was with his family for easter and he went peacefully. i didn't get a chance to stop by and check in on him before he went. the above is from a story i wrote for the paper that published two weeks ago.
