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Robert W. Schiesher
June 20, 1922 – March 14, 2008

My father died from cancer related issues on March 14th. With this entry, I would like to share his life with you. With my next entry, I will share the impact of his life on me and my family. My dad was very Catholic and very spiritual and the eulogy which follows reflects those characteristics.

My dad was a devoted husband. In his 62 years of marriage to my mom, Lorraine, he was a loyal and loving husband. His care for mom was constant and selfless. Neighbors at Tequesta Gardens, where my parents lived for the past three years, lovingly referred to dad as Saint Bob for the care they could see him giving her.

He was an ideal father who taught his six children simply through his example. He was not a man of many words and often stumbled when trying to express himself, especially when caught up in his freely expressed emotions. He never criticized us, was always gentle and supportive and showed us what unconditional love really means in practice. After dinner, for example, after a hard day at work and before going back to work for the evening, he would lay on the living room floor for a short nap. We took advantage of the easy access and would crawl all over him. He never once told us to leave him alone.

Dad was a servant of Jesus. From as long as we can remember, he gave friends a ride to Mass every Sunday, a self-less act that continued even on the day of his funeral mass when we picked up an elderly friend of my parents who they took to church with them regularly.

Dad recognized the presence of Jesus in all people and merged his beliefs into his everyday life. For example, when working at his Karmelkorn Shoppe, he had small cards printed that said “Jesus in Me loves the Jesus in You!” As his personal spiritual outreach, he left stacks of these cards on the counter next to the candies he sold for customers to take. His customers loved him for his kind, gentle spirit as much as for the delicious products that he made. His candy store was a mission to spread happiness, and he succeeded. When training new employees, he drilled into them his customer service motto that the customer is always right.

Dad took it upon himself to visit people he knew in hospitals and nursing homes. He often told the story about Val, a neighbour in Chicago Heights who was suffering from multiple sclerosis. He visited her just before she died and remembered vividly her face constricted with pain. While on retreat at Our Lady of Fatima Retreat Center at the University of Notre Dame, he looked up at the face of the crucified Christ and saw the face of Val looking down at him. He knew then that she was one with Jesus.

Dad was a believer in miracles. He once took a photo with an inexpensive film camera of the statue of Our Lady of the Snows at her shrine in Belleville, Illinois but knew that it would not come out well because it was so dark just past sunset. Yet when he had the photo developed, it was perfectly exposed. He showed the photo to everyone he could, demonstrating the miracle.

My father relaxing in the alps near Attersee, Austria in July 1945.

Dad was a man of prayer. He carried a rosary, which he made himself out of string, with him during his service in Europe during World War II and knew that it kept him safe from harm. He prayed it often during that time.

We often had a living room full of worshipers when our parish priest and the statue of the Pilgrim Virgin came to our house in Chicago Heights. We all kneeled on the carpeted floor of our home for the 30 minutes that it took to recite the rosary.

A Christmas letter from my sister, Pat, sums up the feelings of most people who knew my dad. It reads:

Merry Christmas, Dad!

I wanted to send you a gift that would express who you are; a sincerely warm, loving, open and giving person.

I wanted to send you a gift that would tell you how much I admire you and try to follow your example.

I wanted to send you a gift that would be as special and unique as you are.

I wanted to send you a gift that would tell you how proud I am to be your daughter.

But I couldn’t find what I was looking for. All I have to offer you this Christmas is to tell you that I love you!

And thank you for who you are!

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