He Mattered

Bob last posted on 30 March this year, and after checking back in a couple times since then and noticing a lack of updates, I checked the comments section and found my suspicions confirmed.

It seems I’m late to the punch.

Robert Martin Wallace Jr., 60, of Granite City, IL, passed away unexpectedly at 1:07p.m. Thurs. Mar. 30, 2017 at Gateway Regional Medical Center in Granite City.

He was born Aug. 17, 1956 in Granite City to the late Robert Martin & Glenna (Weiss) Wallace Sr.

Bob worked at the Granite City warehouses and wrote his own blog, Uncle Bob’s Treehouse.

He is survived by a sister, Dawn A. Wilkinson of Granite City and her children, Julie, Daniel and Jacob Wilkinson and their spouses and children.
He will be missed, he was one of my favorite bloggers.
The family will hold a private service at a later date.

I’d been reading Bob for almost two years after discovering him late 2014/early 2015. I found his perspective a fresh one amongst a seemingly more and more uniform palate. While I did not agree with everything he wrote, I could never deny that Bob had a point, which made for really good reading. I’d say he was a very good countervailing opinion, in some respects, to keep one balanced in thought amongst our own echo chamber.

I only wish I could get in touch with this man’s family, his sister, her children and say, “You don’t know this, but Uncle Bob mattered.”

God Bless, Uncle Bob.

Save me a seat up there.


Memento Mori

Just the other day, I attended the funeral of my late grandfather. He had served through the second world war and ate thirteen bullets for his troubles. One of the bullets went through his head and several went through one his legs, crippling him and any athletic ambitions after the war. Despite that, he outlived all of the doctors who told him he would die after the way and clung stubbornly to life until the ripe old age of 89.

Leading up the funeral, I had done a lot of thinking. People say that once your parents die, you begin to come to grips with your own mortality. With the death of my last grandfather, I’ve started to come to grips with the mortality of my parents, of whom I’ve grown quite fond of in the last couple decades. With my increasing ability to understand the world around me and communicate the ideas from my head to people, I’ve developed a healthy rapport and mutual respect with my parents that I didn’t have even four years ago.

In his memory, I’ll dedicate this week’s posts to him.




I’m sure everyone has a moment in their life where it hits them that they are not immortal and will leave this mortal coil, sometime or another.

It can be the death of one’s parents, one’s comrade in battle, witnessing cruelty inflicted upon the unfortunate who find themselves in the wrong places at the wrong times, or any number of things.

The death of a friend so soon after high school was shocking at first. But before my very eyes I have evidence of how short life is, and how important it is not to waste what time I might, or might not have.

In memory of my friend, I will write one post every day this week until Saturday the 30th of June, a week after his body was discovered by the police.