WARMEST REGARDS BY PATTIE MIHALIK

The Times-News - January 8, 2005

Live like you were dying

I don't know why it is but death always comes as a shock.

It doesn't matter if the person was young or old, sick or healthy. Almost every time, we say we're "shocked" to learn someone died. The more we love the person, the more we feel the shock.

That's especially true when the one who died was always so full of life. You know what I mean, I'm sure. Some people just sparkle with the joy of the life.

Bob Elliston seemed to throw off as much positive energy as an electrical line. He vibrated with energy. He stopped in at our newspaper office to see us a few times a week. And every time he did he left us with a smile on our face.

So we were all devastated when a call came to our office saying our friend Bob died in his sleep.

Other than saying he had chills before he went to bed, he had no known health problems. Just like that, the exuberant life force that was Bob was extinguished.

But while we sit here mourning his death, we also can't help but celebrate his life and the lessons he taught us.

You know that Tim McGraw song that's sweeping the nation, "Live Like You Were Dying?"

That's how Bob Elliston lived.

When he saw something he liked in someone, he told them. He gave away hugs, love and good humor with abandonment.

When his heart bubbled over with sweet sentiment, he shared it. Not just with family and friends. The Palmerton man did an e-mail edition of a newsletter that reminded me of A Prairie Companion. It was full of sweetness, humor, strong opinion and small slices of life.

Most of all, the newsletter celebrated the simple things of life -- things like a good home-cooked meal, good conversation and the blessings of a small town.

Bob wrote about starting each day sitting outside with a hot cup of coffee, reminiscing about his life and all the good things in it. Ahhh, life is good, he kept saying.

Before he went to bed that night Bob had a message for the woman he called his Queen. "You know I love you," he said. "I tell you that every night and I'm telling you again."

Ruth knew it, of course. But how comforted she is by the fact that he made a point of telling her.

For Valentine's Day one year, I wrote about Bob and his Queen. At 55, he was what we call a confirmed bachelor until the day when his brother's widow told him she was moving from Palmerton to join her family in West Virginia. When he heard that, he figured he had to do something to keep her here.

He invited her to dinner and told her the words he never found the courage to say: "You know I love you, don't you?"

"I know," said Ruth. "A woman always knows." With the encouragement of Ruth's family, Bob and Ruth married. But they never got around to acting like an old married couple. They acted like what they were: Sweethearts.

Not a day went by that he didn't tell her how blessed he felt to have her in his life. And he told everyone else close enough to listen. The sight of Bobby and his Queen holding hands while they walked together was a daily occurrence in Palmerton.

Other men may feel sweet sentiments. But few voice them as often as he did. He especially made a point of telling Ruth's children how special they were to him.

The way we got to be friends was fairly typical of his good-natured gestures. One day he sent me a letter about a column I wrote on the joys of music. Because I had mentioned how I love classical music, he included a tape he made of his favorite classical music.

I had no idea who Bob Elliston was at that point but I wanted to meet the guy who made me such a great tape. So I stopped by to visit Bob and Ruth. When he asked if I was related to the other Mihaliks in town, I told him I had no family in town. "You do now!" he said.

Sure enough, he and Ruth became as close as family. During Christmas week, I told him I was driving to Danville to see my stepdad and I mentioned that I hoped I got home in time for my Sunday night assignment. It was cold and rainy that night and my assignment was outdoors. When I got there, Bob was already standing in the rain snapping pictures, "just in case" I didn't make it back in time.

See -- that was typical of his caring.

Bob appreciated everything in life. He even appreciated living next door to a cemetery. "It teaches you," he said. "It teaches you to do it now. It teaches you what is important and what isn't."

That man was a bit of a philosopher, that's for sure. He figured out that what is necessary in life to make a man happy is rather simple: Someone to love, a welcoming home, a welcoming heart, and good people around you. He signed his weekly newsletter with the wish he had for everyone: "Love one another."

His life is a testimony to the wisdom of Tim McGraw's song:

"Live like you were dying."

That song speaks of the wisdom we would gain if we truly realize life is limited:

"And then I loved deeper and spoke sweeter

and I watched an eagle as it was flying

....I hope you get the chance

To live like you were dying."

It's one thing to sing those words.

But it's far better to live by them.

Bob Elliston helped teach me that.

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