How much would you pay for a mailbox?
I mean a NICE mailbox.
Bob (not MY Bob, but the one who used to live in the house across the street) ended up spending close to $1k for their mailbox.
Oh no, he never intended on spending that, but Bob made the mistake of not calling what is referred to around here as "Holey Moley". See, even though we live in a rural community, you are supposed to call Holey Moley a couple days in advance before digging on your property. They come out and mark your property where the underground wires are buried.
Some distracted and/or drunk driver took out both our mailbox and Bob's. So Bob decided to "plant" a really nice mailbox. He dug and dug and dug. At one point his wife was there with him, so I decided to tease them both a bit and took a cold beer from our fridge and walked it out to him while he repaired their mailbox.
A couple hours later I see a telephone truck driving V E R Y S L O W L Y down our road. Obviously they stop when they see fresh dirt. Evidence. I checked our phone line and yep, it's working. Not so much for the people on down the road from us. Bob, the Neighbor get's a nice large bill from the phone company later.
We liked to tease him about his expensive mailbox. Bob was the type of guy that you just had to love. We told ourselves I don't know how many times that we needed to go out to dinner with them. But life gets in the way and time moves on.
Bob always had a certain charm about him. He and his wife had been married for years and you could just tell that he had spent his younger years having a bit too much to drink and getting into several bar fights along the way. Bob's wife had spent those years somehow managing to tolerate his wild days and they had learned how to mature into a wonderful couple. From the few times I talked with them, it was evident that Bob had settled down somewhat and his wife loved him throughout.
They built a big house across the street from us along with 10 acres, installing not only a swimming pool, but digging a big pond, nearly lake size in the very back. Their boys blessed with them 6 grandkids, at times living with them when they were between houses. Bob and Betty lived for those grandkids.
In the summer, we would wave across the street when Bob was cutting his grass with his zero-radius turn tractor and in a heavy snowstorm, we would find the two of them in a pickup with a snowblade in our driveway, scraping the snow for us. More than once, I would slip on some shoes and run Bob out a cold beer for the favor.
Three winters ago, we had a tremendous snow storm. My company was closing, so I was working from home upstairs. I heard the noise and I see Bob and Betty in his truck in our drive. The snow was too deep and I was too busy to take him a beer. The snow was so bad that Wednesday, they plowed our drive twice, along with everyone else's in the neighborhood.
They had decided to build an even bigger home a few miles away. We didn't want to see them go and they had trouble selling the house across from us. It was right before the real estate downfall, but Bob wanted alot of money for the 10 acres and the house. ALOT of money. In the meantime, the new house was being built and Bob had his own plumbing business, specializing in new construction. New construction was plummeting, houses (especially in the 3/4 million price range) weren't selling. All in all, it was just plain bad timing.
March 2007, I was fighting my own demons. I had just spent 4 days in critical care with septic shock and was shocked at how quickly you can seem healthy and then be fighting for your life and not even realize it.
I was weak but recovering. Bob and Betty moved to their new home and they got a last minute offer on their house across from us. A few weeks later, the deal fell through.
At 9:30 p.m. while out celebrating my birthday in early April, I see my doc's name pop up on my cell phone. An unexpected call from your doc at 9:30 on a Friday night can not be a good sign.
He's reading the reports from my hospital stay in March. The report has nothing to do with the septic shock, but a CAT scan they did while I was there.
"solid mass off the left ovary"
I know what that means. I had listened to one of my closest friends for five years as her sister fought stage IV ovarian cancer. I know "solid mass" is rarely good.
Short story.....I see my family doc, we schedule an appointment with my ob/gyn. I wait to tell the rest of the family.
They had been shaken enough over my little "spell" of the septic shock, bacteremia, pyelonephritis episode just four weeks before. There is no need to worry them over something (even if it's a solid mass) until I know what we're dealing with.
At the same time we were closing on some additional vacation property in Florida. My company had shut down and I was talking with another company about a contract position.
But always in the back of my mind is the scary thought that I might have to tell my mother I have ovarian cancer. I was still incredibly weak from the sepsis. I would spend a day helping to get our new place put together, then I would be down for a couple days recovering from the energy it took out of me.
And when I would lay down, those dark thoughts would enter my mind. How in the name of God would I tell my family, my MOTHER that I might have ovarian cancer. I did not yet even have a diagnosis, but I still felt the guilt.
So one bright sunny day while we were returning from the beach, Bob's phone rings from one of our neighbors. Everytime we go through that intersection, I remember that phone call. Bob, the Neighbor was dead. It didn't make sense. He was only 52, how can that be?
At first it seemed like a tragedy, but then more information came through.
It seemed as though Bob may have gotten themselves into just a bit of financial trouble and with the retraction of the contract, he was even under greater stress.
He had spent the evening at their new home, gone outside to play with the dog, talked with a good friend, then drove to his office.
He wrote a note to both of his boys and one to his wife. He called her and said he was not coming home. Then he called 911 and said they would find someone dead at the office, hung up the phone and shot himself in the heart.
I had probably only talked with Bob the Neighbor a half dozen times in the dozen years he lived in the neighborhood. He was so delightful, helpful and as I said, charming. But you could also sense that there had always been a selfishness there too. But no one, no one in the neighborhood would have ever guessed he would have done such a horrible thing to his wife, his sons, his grandkids who adored him and to US.
Suicide is the ultimate selfish act.
Tonight Bob and I drove home and looked over at their old house and cried and cursed Bob the Neighbor again. And we barely knew him.
I was angry when we found out three years ago. I had been spending days feeling guilty that I might have to tell my family I could have some deadly disease and here was some wonderfully, funny, selfish man who inflicted that horrible pain on his famly that will be etched into their very souls forever.
I'm still angry. How could you hurt your grandkids, how could you do that to your sons, how could you leave that pain and guilt on your wife and how is it that you never had a clue of the sadness your suicide would inflict on your friends and neighbors? And Bob? I'm sorry I didn't just run through the last of the 3 feet of snow and hand you a beer when you plowed our drive for the last time ever. There will never be another snowfall that I don't regret not getting you that beer and I won't cuss you out anyway for doing something so selfish, painful and permanent.
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