My father, Robert Wayne Gruber, died Tuesday, Jan. 7, 2025. He was 76 years old.
He followed my mother, Linda, who died in 2018.
But for the record, we never called him Robert. He was Bob, or dad, or Pops (my nickname), but never Robert. That’s for signatures or something.
I’ve tried writing several times to get these words down, but it’s just not flowing like I’m used to when I write. As such, I’m just going to let it flow and let the chips fall where they may.
Over the last three years, dad suffered with dementia, or Alzheimer’s Disease, or some form of it. It’s a shame that it was difficult to get a medical professional to actually say “Alzheimer’s” as a diagnosis, but whatever you call it, it is an awful disease. First you forget little things. Then, you forget bigger things. Then you forget many things. It’s terrible, and the world should be doing more to find a cure and ways to prevent it.
In reality the symptoms started before, but things really took a turn toward the end of 2021. Rather than rehash my words, I direct you toward my end of the year post for 2022 where I wrote about his decline. After moving out of the house, he spent three months in assisted living, until it became clear he needed more care than assisted living could provide. From there it was memory care until last December when he made his final stop to a nursing home where he lived the last month of his life.
I am unsure yet what precipitated such a drastic decline in a month. Alas, here we are.
But that’s death. What about life?
He was stoic at times, and jovial at others. One thing is for sure, if you knew Bob Gruber long enough, he probably played a prank on you. He loved to joke around. Since his death last week, I’ve heard stories from those who knew him. I love hearing stories, and if you have some, please feel free to share with me.
Both mom and dad were people of faith. They were Protestant Christians. Religion is no longer part of my life (I am an atheist), but I do respect what it meant for both of them.
There’s so many things a good dad brings to the table. He was a provider. He was a teacher. He wasn’t a sports fan in any form, but he and mom would always be at the games my sister and I were in. He could fix anything. He was responsible. He was loving. He was helpful.
Dad was a veteran of the Vietnam War. He was proud to have served his country, as evident by the Vietnam Veteran hat that he wore everywhere. But the ghosts of war followed him home. Like all veterans of war, he had to live with the burden of loss that comes from such a violent event. We would do well to listen to veterans to see what war does to humanity.
Dad was also grandpa, and he sure did love his grandkids. Once grandkids come along, the children are dog meat compared to them. I take great solace that mom and dad had a loving relationship with their grandchildren. Although we were separated by distance, we made time when we could to get together. Summertime in the backyard pool, blowing up everything for Independence Day, a feast of kinds for Thanksgiving, Christmastime as home … the list goes on and on. Mom and dad were invested in their grandchildren. They loved all of them so much.
The hardest thing I have ever had to do, twice now, is to tell my children that their grandparents have passed away. It just ripped my heart out.
“Grief is love’s souvenir. It’s our proof that we once loved. Grief is the receipt we wave in the air that says to the world: Look! Love was once mine. I love well. Here is my proof that I paid the price.” — Glennon Doyle Melton
How fortunate am I? I have known several people in my life who didn’t have a dad, or a mom, or both, or if they did have parents, some were not much more than donors of genetics. They were parent, but they didn’t parent well. But not me. I had a good childhood. They were not perfect parents, but they were awesome. I am so, so thankful that mom and dad raised me in a safe, loving, supportive home.
Watching dad decline over the last few years has been brutal. I’ve had so many times that I wish I could talk to him and get some advice. But words haven’t been his strong suit for a while, and I’ve had to go at it alone. “What would dad do?” was a thought I’ve had many times. The answer is usually: Do your best, and if you screw up then try something else. Keep going.
Dad taught me to drive. Dad taught me to use tools. Dad taught me to ride a bike. Dad taught me to stand up for myself. Dad taught me that taking care of your family is important. Looking back, I feel that mom taught us how to live and enjoy life. Dad taught us how to achieve that through wisdom and instruction.
And even though he lived a long, full life, I wish I had more time to talk to him as an adult who is still figuring things out.
Now, my sister and I have become adult orphans. That’s a new term for me, but it’s so telling. It’s a weird feeling. Now the children have become the elders. I will admit, I am scared. I heard it described as feeling “untethered,” and that is a very apt description. I’m going to take some time to process my new reality.
So where do I go from here?
I’ll do my best, and if/when I screw up then I try something else.
For now, I grieve. And then, I will keep going.
Thanks for being an amazing dad, Pops. I love you.