When my sister and her family moved to Virginia, Bert and
Mary Bauerlin were their friendly neighbors. I remember my niece and nephews
always talking about Mr. Bauerlin – watching him tinker around in the garage
and telling stories – and the love they had for their next-door adopted grandfather
was evident.
When Mary passed away, my sister and her family grieved
with Bert and, as the years passed, learned to go on. Then one day, Bert
noticed the attractive widow visiting next door, and Bert and my mother began
talking.
Theirs was a conversation that lasted over 10 years.
Every night at precisely 10, my mom's phone would ring and everything came to
an abrupt pause while Mom had her conversation with Bert.
We didn't mind. In fact, we were reassured that someone
was checking on Mom every day. Bert's children were also reassured their father
had someone checking on him every day.
Bert never missed a holiday – Christmas, Mother's Day,
Mom's birthday and Valentine's Day always meant a knock at the door with a
beautiful arrangement of fresh-cut flowers. Mom loved talking about Bert, and
she actually blushed when we'd tease her about her boyfriend.
Bert kept up with the accomplishments and escapades of
the Hebert family, and we kept up with the comings and goings of the Bauerlin
family. Mom and Bert's vacations always included stops at their children's'
homes, especially when they were on the way to Bert's favorite getaway – his
Navy reunions.
The last one they attended was tinged with sadness as so
many of the World War II veterans were passing away. The trips grew harder now
that most were in their late 80's or early 90s.
He also loved coming to Mardi Gras in Louisiana, and
that's the only time I met Bert in person. He was gracious and smiling and knew
something about everyone from my mother's stories.
He especially wanted to thank me for sending him one of
my favorite movies, "Searching for Bobby Fisher" because Bert was an
avid chess player and he loved the story of father and son bonding over the art
of chess.
We were all so grateful Bert had come into my mother's
life and she into his. They shared the
same memories from growing up in the Depression to listening to Patsy Cline's
"Crazy" to muttering about the downhill slide of the American youth.
They needed each other to appreciate the old days and to understand
the present ones.
Last year, Bert ended up in an assisted living center to
recuperate from an illness. The 88-year-old desperately wanted to go back to
living on his own terms where he could watch his black-and-white movies of The
Duke and Charles Bronson without interruption.
But his health began to deteriorate, and the sharp,
quick-witted and self-sufficient Bert began to grow fainter. For Mom, not getting
that 10 p.m. phone call was devastating, but she came to gradually accept that
the Bert she knew was, little by little, fading.
And although we grieve that Bert's no longer here, Mom
said he's passed to the next level and that's what he wanted.
I shall always think fondly of Bert whenever I look at an
American flag, knowing how proud he was to have served his country.
Rest well, Mr. Bert. You've earned it.
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