I had been reading soc.motss about three years before I made my first post. In that time I saw a good number of posts from people who I came to know as "regulars". One of those persons was Rob Bernardo. While I didn't always agree with Rob's perspective, I did usually read his posts and try to understand his point of view. Of the people in this space who I credit with helping me to understand who I am, Rob is right near the top. His words caused my closet to shrink until I could no longer fit into it -- or perhaps he helped me to grow until no closet could contain me.
I never met Rob and never exchanged email with him. However, when I read Jess Anderson's post, it was a full half hour before I even understood where I was at and a while longer before my tear-stained eyes could focus on that posting. I considered Rob a friend not met. He is not the first of my friends to leave this world in this way, but he is the first since I escaped my closet. Reading Jess' post finally allowed me to cry for all the friends I could never cry for before. This is a gift from Rob which I can never repay, except by remembering his influence on my life.
Thank you Rob Bernardo for being there when I needed you, though you did not know. A gift twice blessed.
Since I read of Rob's death, two poems have haunted me. They are about a time long ago, a time of battle. A time not unlike today. I think I need to share these two poems in order to excise the ghost upon my soul. To me Rob was a beacon, holding aloft a flame which helped to show me the way -- a way -- which became important in my life.
I hope you understand.
I miss you Rob and I cannot stop the tears.
| In Flanders Fields In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead, Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe; To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours and hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields. John McCrae |
To which my heart cries out
| America's Answer Rest ye in peace, ye Flanders dead. The fight that ye so bravely led We've taken up. And we will keep True faith with you who lie asleep With each a cross to mark his bed, In Flanders fields. Fear not that ye have died for naught. The torch you threw to us we caught. Ten million hands will hold it high, and Freedom's light shall never die! We've learned the lessons that ye taught In Flanders fields. R. W. Lilliard |
Thank you Rob. For lessons learned and wisdom gained.
But mostly for showing me who I am.
