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Love, Bob (March, 2007)
Love, Bob Love, Bob is yet to be performed. I want to perform it myself, but I'm not sure that I can face that. It is so personal. It is all completely true; all of it happened to me, to my mom, to a friend of mine. Of course I have changed all sorts of little things, but the essence is all true. The conversations are, one and all, conversations that I have had. But as you read the play and see the intimacy between me and my own mother, developed throughout our lives, but honed to such an exact, exquisite end to her life, you will understand why it will be difficult for me to actually perform the piece. I loved writing it. It was cathartic for me. My mother never knew about this play. She died, quietly, in her own bed, with me holding her hand and singing hymns to her right up until her last breath, never knowing but probably always suspecting that I would indeed write a play such as Love, Bob. She knew me, knew that I was a writing creature and that I took from life in order to write, and that my writing IS my life. She was a dear woman and I loved her keenly. I miss her a thousand times a day. I talk to her. I visit her grave. To know more about her, go to the biography section of these webpages where I write about so many in my family, but about my mother most importantly. In the green column at left of this page click Robert Locke > Biography. Or you can go directly by clicking these two links: Since Love, Bob has not yet been performed, I imagine that changes are still to be made. But here, at least, is a copy of the play that I wrote rather feverishly in just a few days, waiting for my mother to die, fearing every morning that indeed she had died during the night, fearing it, yet wishing it, so as to know that all her suffering had come to an end. And in the end, June 26, 2007, it was not all that much suffering, I am very glad to report. But oh. Sept. 10, 2009 Love, Bob 
Read the entire one-man one-act play.
Copyright © 2009 Robert Locke |