My Adidads Prt. 2

A contuation on the story from her mother. A great message from Annemarie Brennan


Sarah,

I'm so very sorry that Bob's story has neared the end. I know it won't ever stop being told, and I am sure that this is some comfort to you, Merrill, and the innumerable others who love Bob. But it's nowhere near enough.

Now for my story...like my mother's, it involves sneakers.

My own father died some 13 years ago. A teenager, I spent much of that day holed up in my room, avoiding everyone else's sorrow and nursing my own. When I finally made my way downstairs, I found the house stuffed full of people from St. Thomas (and the obligatory casseroles). I was completely overwhelmed and unable to do anything but shoot furtive glances at the crowd and scuttle through it as quickly as possible. On my way back to my cave, Bob, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, took me by the shoulder and looked me right in the eye. Battling back his own tears, he said, quietly, that if I ever needed someone to show my new sneakers to, he would be happy to see them.

I thought he had lost it completely.

Over time, the hideous vacuum of my father's absence at big events gave way to the emptiness of his absence at mundane events -- things like getting new sneakers. Even now, Bob's kindness -- not to mention prescience -- glows softly, penetrating the terrible darkness of that time.

I still can't buy sneakers without thinking of him.

My love and thoughts are with you and your family.