Bobbie (Enge) Anderson, RIP

First, I want to give kudos to Bobbie's daughter Augusta for such great obituary. It gives testimony to the wonderful job Bobbie did as a parent and home-school teacher. Bobbie and Augusta followed Carl around to logging camps in Alaska, some floating, where Augusta was home-schooled and exceeded state expectations by a wide margin. God bless you Carl and Augusta, I think I can safely say that you were everything Bobbie ever wanted. I know, God wants to bless all of us, but this is hard to put into words. I'm very saddened by the passing of my first cousin who I treasured as a friend as well.

I remember the first time I spent time with Bobbie. She was about 10 and I about 5; we set sail together as ship-mates on our Grandfather Martin Enge's gillnetter, the Portia, for the Stikine River. In those days you could fish up in the river and I remember only seeing brown water around us. Grandad used a flatbottomed skiff to carry and pull the net with. Bobbie lost her necklace somewhere along the line and Grandad found it clinging to the net when he pulled it by hand the first time. There is a picture around here somewhere of me and Grandad sitting together in the skiff while I was getting the feel of the oars that was taken by Bobbie. That picture is a treasure to me, thank you Bobbie.

There were many family get-togethers with Uncle Ernest and Aunt Ethel and their three daughters, but I mostly remember them excusing themselves early for some mysterious function with the older crowd. We bumped into each other often through the years that flew by too quickly, and ended way too quickly. At Dad's graveside memorial a few years ago Bobbie characteristically said, "Well John, how's the other black sheep of the family?" And just as characteristically I said, "You know Bobbie, we always did exactly what we wanted to do." And she replied in form, "You're damned right we did."

She lived emphatically, to the fullest, and loved deeply. I remember when we were leaving the church funeral service for my Grandmother Augusta, Bobbie was sobbing. The only one I saw who was. I couldn't see over the casket, so she must have been pretty young too. I always liked that she cried at our Grandma's funeral. Bobbie, I'm having a hard time not crying right now. And I liked that she gave comfort to my good friends the Thompson boys' Grandma, Ann Thompson, in her final years, reading the Bible to her among other things she needed help with. Ann provided us little cookie beggars with many a cookie through the years.

Bobbie was responsible beyond her years was my impression. I remember going downtown to the cafe, about where Viking Travel is now, and getting breakfast before daylight with Dad before going out deer hunting. Bobbie was there waitressing. I remember being surprised how spry and awake she was, and young to be doing that. I don't want to drag on because I think her daughter Augusta's piece is the one to remember here. Bobbie was preceded in death by her father Ernest, mother Ethel and Sister Bonnie and Bonnie's husband Ed Duncan. Lots of comfort to the rest of the family, especially Carl and Augusta.


 By Bobbie's daughter, Augusta

Bobbie Anderson, Mom, Wife, Nana, Sister, Auntie, Cousin, Fisherman, Master Baiter, Best Friend, Alaskan, Trouble Maker, Wave Causer, Problem Solver, Pain in the Ass and Peace Maker. These are a few of the names my mom has been called through the years, but for me, my personal favorite is Mom.

Mom passed away in Bellingham on Monday evening, March 3rd. We surrounded her in her final moments and blanketed her in love. I now know the true meaning of oxymoron, because her passing was the singular most wonderfully terrible moment in my life and the lives of her family.

Many people knew her, some understood her and fewer appreciated her. But know this, she loved fiercely and was fiercely loved by those few in return. No need to mention you by name, if you were in that few you are feeling the loss right along side us and our prayers are with you.

How can such a colorful woman leave this life and not take some color with her? Impossible, I say. There is a certain dimness in my hours as I look around the world resisting the urge to pick up the phone to call my mom to tell her how shitty my day has been. The dimness doesn’t stop at the colors, it has selfishly taken over sound as well. Nothing is as sharp as it was a mere 72 hours ago. Photos seem faded, eyes seem dull and music is muted.

Each of us had our own relationship with her. She was Dad’s soul mate and best friend; my mother, friend and comrade in arms against the world; Vinnie’s confidant, partner in crime and so much more than any mother-in-law could ever be; Bubba’s homie, his biggest fan and her chance to act like a teenager again; Quincey’s protector, supplier of cookies and never ending faith, love and support….that and neither of them are afraid of flipping the bird at any deserving soul.

She made some really wonderful friends during her brief time on Hospice. Brooke her nurse, Jennifer her chaplain, Cheryl her social worker, Michele her bath aide, and others I’m sure I’m forgetting.

She was a beautiful woman both inside and out, a hard worker, a commercial fisherman; an Alaskan through and through.

She was born on October 14, 1943 in Petersburg, Alaska and passed into the loving arms of her Lord and Savior on March 3, 2014. She is survived by her husband Carl Anderson, her daughter Augusta Anderson and son-in-law Vinnie Anderson, her grandson Carl Anderson and Amanda Carpp, her granddaughter Quincey Anderson and Nick Ackerman, her sister Signe Haltiner and an extended family too vast to name.

Mom was a loving and caring woman who selflessly put other’s needs in front of her own on a daily basis. She didn’t take shit from anyone and had the bumps and bruises to show for it. She hated to see us in pain and reprimanded us if we cried too much and acted too little. She was a gladiator on deck, a hoot and a half, a little woman with a big attitude. She was our Mom, Wife, Nana; she was a force that will always be missed and our only comfort is that we will see her again someday.