Way Too Often These Days

A few days ago when I was going in and out of the Houston County Medical Center as much as possible to see my new grandbaby I ran into an old friend from home standing at the front door.

I asked him what he was doing at the hospital. Ricky told me his Uncle Jack had broken his hip and was not doing well at all. He told me he was worried about him. I got his room number and told Ricky I would drop by to see him.

Jack Hobbs has lived all his life in a “suburb” of Reynolds called Hobbsville. You won’t find Hobbsville on a map because the Hobbsville sign was erected by the Hobbs family, not by the State of Georgia. Several generations of Hobbs’ have lived in this little community. Jack’s brother, Snook, and his cousin GC, raised their families there. Snook and GC both had a house full of children. Jack never got married.

This “bachelor” uncle has always been loved and looked after by his many nephews and nieces who live near him. I was not surprised that a couple of them were at his side at the hospital last week.

Jack has lived a simple life. He bought a brand new pick up truck in 1968 and was still driving until recently when his family made him quit driving. Not many people drive the same vehicle for 37 years. Jack never worried about impressing anybody. He just lived his life and tended to his own business.

I really don’t think Jack was worried about how much he owed on his credit card when he was admitted in the hospital. I’ve never checked his credit report but I have a strong feeling he doesn’t have a credit report. He paid cash for whatever he bought.

One can learn a lot about living from a man like Jack Hobbs. I was always impressed by the way Jack lived his life.

I got to know him at visitations at the funeral home through my dad when I was a young kid. Jack and my dad were in the same class in school and they were big buddies. Jack never liked the idea of being around dead people. He never could understand how we did it. But he and daddy always had a story to tell about something that happened 50 years ago. He was one of those people you just loved being around.

As I did with many of my dad’s friends, I also became friends with Jack. We had our own stories to tell after many years of knowing each other.

I realized as I entered the elevator to go up to his room the other day that I had not seen Jack in a few years. When I walked in his room and saw him I realized he didn’t look good at all. I didn’t know if he was cognizant of what was going on or not. The family members who were in the room told me to speak to him but they had no idea if he would respond or not.

I stood over him and said loud enough for him to hear me, “Mr. Jack Hobbs, do you know who this is?”

I heard a grunt but no answer.

I then said, “This is your ole buddy, Bruce Goddard.”

Without opening his eyes he responded with a smile, “I don’t think I want to be seeing an undertaker right now.”

“Jack at least you are talking to him,” was my response.

We all laughed. And Jack smiled wider.

We visited for a few minutes but I left there with an empty feeling in my stomach. I’m at the age now where people I knew so well and who influenced me in so many ways are dying way too often.

There are a lot of neat things about being in my fifties.

But watching my friends die is not one of them.