My Cousin Bob

This month, my family said goodbye to the finest human being I have ever known, my first cousin Bob Hoggatt. Bob was the eldest child of my mother's only sibling, her late brother Robert. In that role, my Uncle Bob's namesake son was the patriarch of our family. He wore that distinction well.

Bob Hoggatt
1943-2018

I've known Bob all my life, but fifteen years his junior, my early memories of him are sketchy as during our family get togethers, I was more inclined to hang out with his youngest siblings who were closer to my age, my cousins Bill and Betty. I hardly have any recollections of Bob at all without Bridget, who married him when I was ten years old. While it is quite impossible to think of Bob without Bridget, the two were far from being attached at the hip, The couple consisted of two strong minded, strong willed, distinct individuals who perfectly complimented the other. I remember a conversation Bob and I had a long time ago about relationships and the pride he showed when he spoke of how he and his wife were perfect equals, that neither one of them could ever claim to be the dominant partner of the two. Being the wisest person I ever knew however, Bob was quick to point out that in even the most egalitarian of relationships, there are times when one partner is more equal than the other. We had a great laugh over that one.

Bob and I became close around the time I was a teenager, when I began to look for role models who weren't my parents. As I was raised an only child, he was the big brother I never had. Perhaps the greatest of his many qualities was his ability to be attentive to other people. Despite being older and much wiser, he never talked down or offered me unsolicited advice. That is something my children, who were both devastated by his death, picked up upon as well. It didn't matter if you were the Archbishop of Chicago, or the hospital attendant cleaning bedpans, in every encounter with Bob, you came away feeling that you were the most important person in the world. The important thing to note here is the fact that when you were with Bob, you were the most important person in the world to him, it was not an act.

That's not to say Bob didn't have what our grandmonther would have called "a little bit of the divil (sic) in him." Our closest time together was during my father's final days, as he lay in a semi-conscious state in a pallative care facility in Arizona. During that six week ordeal, Bob who was still working at the time and living in Chicago, visited my mother and me at least two or three times.. He provided us immeasurable compassion, comfort and companionship during that difficult time. He also provided a few much needed laughs.

My father's primary care physician at the facility was a man who obviously had a very high opinion of himself. His deep tan and long locks, along with a perfectly pressed western shirt, tight jeans and snakeskin boots gave him an almost movie star-like presence. The only thing that contradicted the effect was the voice. To compare that man's voice to Mickey Mouse would be a gross understatement. It was as if he walked around connected to a tank of helium. Bob first met this doctor at a meeting with my mother and me, where he spelled out all his great plans to prolong (not the word he used) my father's at the time miserable existance. As the doctor went on and on trying to give us what we all understood to be false hope, Bob listened intently, giving the conversation all the gravitas it deserved.

After the doctor departed, my mother asked Bob what he thought. Surprizing us both, Bob, never once breaking from his serious expression replied: "Well the first thing I have to say is what's up with that doctor's voice?" I have to say that I can't remember laughing harder in my entire life. As a devout man, Bob probably wouldn't like to be remembered as someone who got a laugh off of someone else's expense. But the truth is Bob deeply understood where his priorities were; the tremendous gift of laughter he provided my mother and me in our time of darkness, more than outweighed the transgression of poking a little fun of someone's affliction.

Bob in his natural state, yukking it up with family
members this past Christmas

That was how Bob lived his life. He lived the Gospel every day, but was not dogmatic about it. He understood what was important, that the most fundamental gifts spelled out by his faith are love, compassion and generosity. Despite his passionate love of the English language and his remarkable facility with it, he knew the most effective way he could communicate his faith was through example rather than words. 

We've spoken ad nauseam lately over the importance of following reason rather than blind faith. But I strongly believe that faith has a very powerful purpose in our lives, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. On the day he died I got a call on my phone at work. I didn't recognoze the number and as I typically do, considered ignoring it as nine times out of ten, these are recorded sales calls. But something told me to to answer the phone. For a moment my original suspicions were confirmed as there was a long delay at the other end which is always the case with recorded calls. Yet still I hung on the line. After about five seconds a halting, barely audible voice came over the phone. It was my cousin Bill delievering the news. While Bob had numerous health issues over the past five years, his death was unexpected and a complete shock. In fact we had plans to celebrate his 75th birthday the following week, and his health was at the time, the farthest thing from my mind. Think whatever you will but I am convinced it was Bob who told me to pick up the phone, as no one else in the family could bear to break the news to my mother who loved Bob as if he were her own son.

There have been other unusual moments in the days since his death that we are all convinced were influnced by Bob. I know scads of people who would take pains to point out that these events all had  perfectly rational explanations. Well those folks can believe whatever they want.

No matter what you believe, the truth is that our loved ones live on in those of us they leave behind. I'll know Bob is with me everytime I hug my children and God willing, someday my grandchildren, as his family was the greatest joy of his life. I'll know he's with me whenever I listen to those in pain, building up their self-esteem by letting them know what good and impostant people they truly are, as Bob often did. I'll know he's alive whever I treat a stranger like my oldest friend.

Bob, Bridget and their six grandchidren

On the other hand, I realize that neither I nor anyone could ever replace Bob. I doubt I'll ever make a point of visiting the gravesites of my family on their birthdays like he did. It's highly unlikely that I will keep a list of the sick and downhearted, and every night before I go to bed, remember each and every one of them in my prayers as he did. And I'll never have the boundess love and compassion for others that he did.

In her beautiful eulogy for her brother, my cousin Betty, herself no slouch when it comes to boundless love and compassion, reflected upon just that, recalling a particularly difficult chapter in their family's history:

For many reasons, every day was challenging and hard. At one point, I gave up. Most of us had nothing left in us to give. But Bob, just when you thought he had nothing left...he would dig deeper and keep going.

In short, it would take an entire extended family and then some to come close to fill the void of one Bob Hoggatt. His was a life well lived, one that despite our incalculable loss, my family will celebrate for as long as we are on this planet.

It is customary when someone dies to wish them a peacful rest. That will never happen with my cousin Bob. While he is no longer in need of our prayers, we deperately need his. It is my firm belief that wherever Bob is, he is at this moment working tirelessly on our behalf and as always, will never let us down.

And it is my fervent belief that one day Bob and I will see each other again and have a good laugh over this crazy and beautiful world.

Until that day comes, I'll miss you Bob.