What a Time

As I crawled into bed last night, I said, “December’s been interesting.”

“Oh - is that what we’re calling it?” Andrea asked.

It was December, rather than March, that was in like a lamb, out like a lion.

The lamb days were spent at Club Turkoise in Turks and Caicos. There was no easy transition to the lion days - those were upon us in short order, by way of a text message like this…

When I texted my mom to ask if she had been recently hospitalized, she responded non-commitally with a, “What makes you say that?” Which prompted me to call her.

She had, in fact, been hospitalized after a fall in her living room where she gave it some time (THREE DAYS!!!!!) to see if she could get off the floor on her own. She couldn’t. So that’s when she fessed up to her sister and finally relented and called 911. I think 911 would have picked her up and left under normal circumstances but being on the floor 3-days is anything but normal. Being on the floor 3-days gets you admission to the hospital.

I flew in to Illinois on Friday and spent a week juggling work while trying to establish a baseline for The Bertinator (aka my mom) to maintain at her condo - along with her independence.

During the latter part of my time in Illinois, it was becoming increasingly clear that my friend and former colleague wasn’t doing well. The one bright spot since Bob’s glioblastoma diagnosis was growing closer to Beth and Noeline - a support group, of sorts, supporting one another - and Bob, to the extent you can support anyone dealt an incredibly shitty hand. Prior to Bob’s surgery in August 2023, Bob had established that his sister would keep Noeline apprised of developments, and she, in turn, would keep Beth and I up-to-date - an arrangement that lasted throughout each shitty development of Bob’s illness - and through the news of his passing on Saturday morning.

Back in November, during open enrollment and a bad hire at work, I inexplicably began repeatedly muttering, “What a time.” Which, in retrospect, seems rather prescient, and I’ve taken to muttering it once more. Because what else can you say? A lot - but none of it will make any difference. It won’t change anything.

But I’m going to leave you with a few lessons I learned from Bob over the years - because maybe those will make a difference.

1. You can’t want it more than they do. Bob would say this when we had to address someone’s performance at work. It turns out this phrase is applicable for performance outside of work. For my mom - whom I want to remain independent and set up for independence but I can’t want it more than her. I can’t do the work for her that it will take to remain independent. I wanted someone to reconcile with Bob more than they wanted - so that didn’t happen. Bob was right.

2. Get to know someone as a person. One reason Bob was so loved is because of how he knew at least one personal thing about the employees - the names of their children, grandchildren, a hobby, etc. It’s the greatest leadership lesson Bob gifted me with.

3. Maintain a United Front. Once, in the private dining room at Nashua Crossings, the regional team engaged in a spirited debate. I don’t remember the topic but what I do remember was that upon conclusion of the discussion, Bob said, “We can argue and disagree behind closed doors but when we leave here, we need to do so as a united front.” I think this advice can be applied to many relationships.

That’s all I have for today. Please don’t say that you’re sorry for my loss - so many of us lay claim to this giant, shared, collective loss. Most of all, Bob’s family.