"Don't be going anywhere---," said father Robert Lee.
And--then there were no more words------
Today, we are gathered together to
celebrate the passing of this man whom
I called little brother, whom you may have
called lover--or father--or grandpa--or--
brother--daughter, sister, nephew, niece--or
step son, grandparents, uncles, aunts--
grandchildren, cousin--perhaps he was a
co-worker--or a total stranger whom
you chanced to meet in the course of business--
school mate, or parent-----
Whatever each of you may have called him--
And all of us have called him various names---
some names in love--some names in harshness--
but all names connected with memories---
What ever were the chance circumstances
of the meeting--there were conditions we
all have come to recognize--common traits.
All of us remember that broad full faced
smile beginning with the bright sparkling eyes--
a grinning mouth--the lips opening wide--
two rows of teeth parted, the tip of tongue--
the words pouring forth in firm and direct
discourse--laughing--jesting with jovial
approval and sometimes harsh, discordant
words, or praise that made our hearts swell with pride.
I remember him--little boy, four years
junior to my own age--even then a
little rascle---he stole the hearts of all.
"The little brown bomber", we used to call
him--he, with the bronze tanned skin and blond hair--
drenched with the summer sun--oh, how much we
envied him his effervesecent youth when
we, my brothers and sisters were young.
Years later, my nieces, you recall him
in the same manner---captain of his boat--
commander of his place upon the lake
he choose for his home--king upon the water--
the speedo envy of the sparkling pond.
How changed at Christmas in 2003--
living at Devonshire--more like struggling--
grasping for each harsh, precious, prolonging breath--
infused with oxygen--his already
disstressed lungs scream with alarm--urgency
and shortness that reminds me of my own father's
struggle to complete his life in Central Dupage hospital.
Surely, I tell my wife, Debbie, the end
is near--how much can the body endure?
But life trudges on like a committed
assembly line, controlled by iron will
and survives the odds of life's great dice roll.
I reflect upon the distant past--and
I recall a young man with saxophone--
his rapid fingers plying scales up
and down--arpegieos--syncopations--
jazzy tunes that won him big blue ribbons.
Each of us harbors much secret pride in
our hearts, remembering those music notes.
Years later, co-workers tell tales about
the same insistant quest for perfection--
"we must do what needs to be done--"
and then he persisted at the work.
Rigid task master--a loving leader--
an imperfect human--and who among
us is more suited to the harsh task of
having lived a challenging life than he?
Can you or I honestly say that we
expected more of him than he produced?
Yesterday, Roger reminded me that
Bob introduced my sister, Lenore, to
him those many years ago. Then Thomas
reminded me about the vanished car
on his wedding day--Robert searched high and
low but found no trace or tire track near home--
the car, safely secreted in Elmhurest
at the Holz residence escaped the quick
mischeviousness of Robert's secret quest
to inflict humorous tricks on newly weds.
The stories are endless--the connections
with people and places spin through all time
and space without end reflecting his joy
in the practical joke--the casual jest
that evoked both our laughter and anger.
And--now---he has gone away for ever--
We have in our hearts our few memories
of "Bobbie"--those special moments that make
us reflect on how we once knew this man
who lived among us as a live fellow--
a human who loved, worked, and lived his life.
God rest your soul,
Robert Lee Daleiden,
January 21, 2004.