My brother had an intimate understanding of physics. He liked acceleration more than speed, although velocity thrilled him too. He liked Grand Prix racing where the curves were tight and dangerous. He bought and paid for cars with hard work at a young age, but he always had his eye on motorcycles too. Within the first two months of his finally getting a bike, he died on it. Considering how he entertained my parents and I for years with driving exploits, the lasting irony for me is the name of the road: Blackjack. Even though this irony is cruel, my parents and I have never stopped believing what we know to be true: that after he got the bike, he was happier than he'd been for a long time. He'd found some peace, even though knowing him (and myself) the sky was never clear blue for long. Perfectionist that he was, if there was one thing wrong with the world, the world was a bummer. But this never affected the way he treated people. He was patient, helpful, generous, perceptive, humble. I love him for his guts and for the irrational risks he would take. I love him for the friendships he made that I've had a chance to observe. I love him for his character and dignity and because he was not a follower, but a quiet leader. I miss him.
On the midnight radio,
Your favorite songs play.
Powerful, kind and true
To the safe break of day.
See you at the crossroads, freed spirit.
You can send email to Robin at: [email protected]
anniversary date 07-20-87
date of post 10-02-98