REMEMBERING BOB WEIR
“ SOMETHING HAPPENED WHEN HE PLAYED THAT GUITAR. EVERYONE COULD SEE IT— AND HEAR IT. THROUGHOUT THE HISTORY OF THE DEAD, BOB’ S GUITAR ALWAYS SEEMED TO BE BURIED IN THE MIX. HE WAS VERY MUCH A PART OF THE SOUND, BUT HIS GUITAR NEVER REALLY CUT THROUGH IN AN OBVIOUS WAY. BUT WHEN HE PLAYED THAT TELE, I SUDDENLY REALIZED JUST HOW GOOD A PLAYER HE IS.”
they could to treat him— chemo, radiation, everything else— but it all failed. The doctors had given him only two weeks to live. At that point Mom took him out of the hospital and got him into experimental alternative treatment. And eight months later, the cancer was in remission. Jim lived another 12 years— some years better than others— but the damage done to his system by the radiation eventually caught up with him. He died on November 4, 1991, at 39.
Losing our dear brother was devastating. Even now not a day goes by that we don’ t think about him and miss him; he was an amazing guy. We were really just starting to get over our grief when Bob came along. And his presence proved to be a healing force, especially for my parents. All of a sudden, their lives opened up again. It was a very good thing for everybody.
We thought it was a bit odd, though, that Bobby seemed to avoid the subject of Jim; whatever his reasons, he just wasn’ t comfortable talking about him. But then, none of us really knew how to act. We were delighted that he had come into our lives, but the deeper connections came slowly and cautiously. At times, we sort of awkwardly danced around each other as our lives began to become more and more intertwined.
Bobby and Natasha stayed in Jim’ s old room when they came to visit, and though Jim’ s guitar was always in the room, Bob never opened the case. But then again, none of us, probably out of deference, touched the Tele after Jim died; it just stayed in his room. I’ m sure Bobby sensed that it might have been put out for him, quietly and subtly inviting him to pick it up. And eventually he did. In some ways I think it was easier for him; it would have been hard for me to play that guitar.
At the same time, though, when Bob did start to play it, I was surprised at my mixed feelings. On one hand it was a wondrous thing, but on the other, there were some conflicting, if not confused, emotions. Call it sibling rivalry, but when Bob came along, a lot of energy and attention was poured in his direction— and naturally so! But I felt that I had lost some of my identity
114 | SPRING 2026