The family, of us: Bob Simons

“Brother, let me be your fortress…”

Dateline: Rocky Hill, CT

“Never worry about numbers. Help one person at a time, and always start with the person nearest you.”
~Mother Teresa

If in my life I write 1,000,000 words, I ask, I hope that when no more words come from me that of all those words you remember only…nine.

These nine: Make how you live your life, be the message.

Preach not, just do.

Teach not, just do.

Wish not, just do.

And when you “just do,” do justly for others.

Inside of us all are molecules of Jesus Christ, particles of water he cleansed the sick with, particles of oxygen that carried his message of love, use what’s in you as they are meant to be used.

Helping others.

Use them to help a fellow angler and family in need: Bob Simons.

Make how you live your life, be the message.

Just, do.

Just, do.

“…when the night winds are driving on…”

“It seems to me that any full grown, mature adult would have a desire to be responsible, to help where he can in a world that needs so very much, that threatens us so very much.” 
~Norman Lear

Pink slips handed to old white guys is the unreported, ignored American horror story that is happening on every block, in every town, city or suburb, whether you know it our not, chances are, it’s in your neighborhood as well.

I know it is in mine.

In the choice between the bottomline and the family, the line wins.

Downsizing for most means upsizing for a few.

To think the American Revolution rid our country of kings and queens is akin of thinking that Rudolf the reindeer took the bite out of that left out carrot on Christmas Eve.

Connecticut angler Bob Simons is a working stiff with a dangerous career, he was mid-level management, he was old (50+), he was making a comfortable, not wealthy, salary, living in a raised ranch or three-bedroom, two-bath 1,500-ish square foot Colonial home neighborhood.

Two-car family, both used, one a truck, bass boat as old as the ring in the grass left by the old pool the kids, now married, spent their childhood summers cannonballing into.

Wife worked, maybe a local bank Christmas Club, vacations they could drive to, once a week out to dinner at a local pizza place, white table cloth meals once a year to mark a loving marriage.

Sound like someone you know?

Sound like you?

Bob, and all those out their like him, are the backbone of this country, the people who march off to war, who run into buildings or crawl in through the window of your burning upside down car to save you.

Bob, and all those out there like him, are the sons, and daughters of the factory workers who bolted this country together one nut at a time, the sons and daughters of those cement workers who poured the glue that hold it together.

And yet Bob, and thousands of those like him…have gotten screwed.

But for the kings, but for the queens, the bottomline, it’s better now.

“…be the one…”

“If we could all hear one another's prayers, God might be relieved of some of his burdens.”
~Ashleigh Brilliant

Bob lost his job, downsizing, looked for a job, any job, anything to keep the family afloat, found one, half or third the old salary, sold his boat to pay bills, wife lost her job, downsizing, same scenario as Bob.

The American horror story…they lost their home, in foreclosure right now.

The American horror story…they lost their health care.

The Universal horror story…sickness.

Sickness that can kill you:

Doreen (Bob’s wife): “Bob needs a kidney transplant, or he will die.”

In what may, IMO be a miracle, they have found a possible match for Bob, someone going through tests to see if one of their kidney’s will work inside of Bob.

If you believe as I do that “love” is a miracle, this may be proof…the kidney that looks like to be a good match belongs to…Doreen, his childhood sweetheart and wife of 45 years.

“We, Bob and I have some health care, it will cover some of it but it won’t cover the drugs needed to have it all work out, won’t cover the fact both of us will be out of work for awhile with no money coming in, but you know, it could be worse.”

The fact that Doreen could stand there and tell me, “…but you know, it could be worse…” to me, is also a miracle.

It is simply, the miracle of having faith, in faith.

Again, Doreen, “The hospital told us the drugs will cost about $10,000 and insurance doesn’t cover it…”

I’m about to quite possibly curse, when, “…the hospital told us when we said we didn’t have the money for that, they said, we should try fundraising and that they would point us to some fundraising online sites.”

It was then, that I cursed.

“…to light the way…”

“The difference between a helping hand and an outstretched palm is a twist of the wrist.”
~Laurence Leamer

We are not a civilization if health care comes down to those amongst us who have the most successful bake sales.

State of the art care to those with the most expensive junk for sale in the garage sale.

And yet, on this Saturday night in the middle of Connecticut it is the particles of Christ within us that surrounds me and my wife Barb.

We are at VFW post overflowing with neighbors and anglers who have come here with cupcakes and meatballs, with gift cards and treasures to be raffled off, all with the hopes of raising the money needed to buy the drugs that will keep Bob alive.

And maybe, that is how it should be, pharmaceutical kings & queens be damned, WE GOT THIS.

Chris, a Connecticut B.A.S.S. Nation angler and Bob and Doreen’s son, his wife Becky and his sister Michele are at the door of the VFW Post greeting people or squeezing through the crowd of some 200 neighbors and anglers to give squeezes to loved ones and friends.

“db, check this out, check this out, all for mom and dad,” and with that he leads me into a room stuffed with love…and several tons of donated food and goodies.