Bobrobert's Memorial Service

When I woke up the day after BR's death, I put iTunes on shuffle and hit play, figuring that if I didn't like the song, I could always skip it. The first song it played was Barry Manilow's One Voice. BR often told me how much he loved this song. I tried to sing along, but kept falling apart with tears. I promised myself I would find a way to work it into the memorial service.

A few days later, I decided on two additional pre-recorded songs. The first was Sandi Patty singing Upon This Rock. One of BR's secret guilty pleasures was inspirational religious music, and Sandi Patty was one of his favorite artists.

If in a simple carpenter
You see the Son of God
If you would choose to lose
When you could win
If you would give your life away
For nothing in return
Then you are where
My kingdom will begin.

The second song was To Me, a duet by Lee Greenwood and Barbara Mandrell. I know, not the Barbra most of you were expecting. BR's friend Fran Kinman introduced him to this song long before I met him. While we were dating, it became clear that this was the kind of love he was looking for, and wasn't going to settle for less.

To me
You are the hand that I reach for
When I've lost my way

To me
You are the first star of evening
The sun that warms my day

Just as sure as
I'm sure there's a Heaven
This was meant to be

No road is too long
As long as you belong to me

To me
You are the truth I've been living
Girl, I believe in you

To me
You are the love I have looked for
My whole life through

Just as sure as
I'm sure there's a Heaven
This was meant to be

No road is too long
As long as you belong to me

Just as sure as
I'm sure there's a Heaven
This was meant to be

No road is too long
As long as you belong to me

Reverend Emile was lined up to do the service and scripture readings, and Gail and Mary Katherine to play the prelude and postlude organ and piano. And as the day of the service neared, I realized that I needed to deliver BR's eulogy myself. But no matter how hard I tried, the things I wrote just didn't do justice to the life we shared together. I decided to focus on how he was always able to build and maintain a circle of friends no matter where he was, and on how much he loved those friends. With my sister Cindy by my side for support, I spoke of the dinner parties on Martel Avenue, the ex-boyfriends, and the neighbors -- many of whom were present in the Gilliam United Methodist Church that Saturday.

If I had to pick a message to highlight from Bobrobert's life, it would be to hold the ones you love close and tight, and to never stop looking for people to love.

The service closed with One Voice. I sang the first verse solo.

Just one voice, singing in the darkness
All it takes is one voice
Singing so they hear what's on your mind
And when you look around you'll find

My family joined me for the second verse and bridge.

There's more than one voice
Singing in the darkness
Joining with your one voice
Each and every note another octave
Hands are joined and fears unlocked

If only one voice would start it on its own
We need just one voice, facing the unknown
And then that one voice would never be alone
It takes that one voice

Then we moved out into the congregation, hugging anyone who would have it. Standing in the aisles, we finished the song.

It takes that one voice
Just one voice, singing in the darkness
All it takes is one voice
Shout it out and let it ring
Just one voice, it takes that one voice
And everyone will sing

Celebrating Bobrobert

I'll be writing more about the wonderful memorial service and celebration when I return to Austin. But this was just too good not to share right away.



Hazel Vickery was BR's fifth grade social studies teacher. Back then, she taught BR how to dance the Charleston. At the memorial celebration, she entertained the crowd with a couple numbers at the piano. Guaranteed to bring a smile to your face.

Trying to find comfort

What a difference a year makes. Last year, friends joined BR and me in cheering in the MS150 riders. This year, we had to cross the line of riders to bring BR to Christopher House.

As we start our third night of what the hospice nurses call his body "actively dying," I'm trying to find comfort in the outpouring of support from our friends. Comfort in having Dede and Beth and Jordan by our side. Comfort in the many glimpses of memories that flash across his iPad screen. But for some reason, all they do is make me cry. Not a very comfortable emotional state.

Comfort is found in the ordinary. This is anything but. So I've put the Hello, Dolly DVD into the laptop, and I'm singing along -- just like BR and I have done with friends so many times before.

In Memorium: Doris "Nanny" Pearce (1920-2010)

Nanny was BR's maternal grandmother. I first met her in the early 1990s at BR's cousin Billy's wedding in Dallas. She was energetic, observant, outspoken, and as BR warned me, somewhat judgmental -- a warning I had managed to forget as I sped from work to their hotel on my motorcycle, still wearing a "Sorority Girls from Hell" t-shirt. Not one minute after greeting her, I heard her read the t-shirt out loud, and then let out a laugh that at the same time was warm and welcoming, and yet said "can you believe what this idiot is wearing?"

Nanny was a picture of southern gentility. She had high expectations of her family, which occasionally lead to awkward secrets. In the early years of our relationship, BR was adamant that Nanny was not to know that he was gay. After about the second time I joined him on a trip home to Louisiana, Nanny decided that I would be a perfect boyfriend for his cousin Paige. This matchmaking continued until shortly after BR and I married in 1992, and he decided to come out to her. Paige, however, continued to refer to me as her "backup boy" for many years to come.

Nanny was frequently concerned with BR's appearance. The years when he would grow his hair long, she would encourage him cut it to a respectable length. This prompted a Christmas present one year containing nothing but his hair.

In the years after the passing of her second husband, Frank, Nanny became increasingly introverted. BR's mother Dede moved into a home built on Nanny's property to be close by. Between her, her sister Beth, and their families, Nanny was lovingly cared for through her passing Thursday morning.

I think I'll get a haircut today.

17 years and counting

We had been dating for two years, and living together for one. We got engaged in the parking lot of the San Jose, California airport. While riding out Hurricane Andrew on Key West, we decided to set the date -- 10/10/1992. While looking through a AAA magazine, we read an article about Skyline Drive through the Shenandoah National Park. It mentioned a small waterfall right off the road, and we chose it as the location for our wedding.



We set out from Dallas, Texas on the 8th, driving to Memphis, Tennessee on the first day. On the second day, we made it to Roanoke, Virginia. We set off on the morning of the 10th, located the falls, and started to climb. When we reached the top, we exchanged vows and rings between ourselves and our God.




Goodness, we were young!

My Inspiration

My grandmother, Vera, had six children. In 1949, five of them were stricken with polio before they had reached their teenage years. My father was severely affected, losing the use of one arm and one leg. But by far the hardest hit was my Uncle Rudy. At age 8, he was nearly killed by the disease. He needed an iron lung, but none were available. Machinists in Bloomington, Illinois heard of his plight, got together, and came up with a "wooden lung."



That wooden lung saved my uncle's life, and he proceeded to live longer than anyone could have anticipated.

The one who took care of him day in and day out for nearly 60 years was my grandmother. She passed away last year before I had a chance to ask her how she did it.

Wings on wheels

Richie got me thinking of some of my favorite motorcycle memories.

From 1990 through 1996, I didn't own a car. I rode a 600cc Yamaha Radian day in and day out, year 'round in Dallas, Texas. The first time I dropped the bike and injured myself, I was on my way home from work. BR and I had only been dating for a few months, and he was waiting for me at my apartment. I came in with holes in my jeans and a bloody knee. He was so sweet, running across the street to the store to pick up bandages and peroxide. I knew then and there he was the one.

Now BR always said I looked like a circus clown riding such a small motorcycle. So when our car died in 2006, I totally took advantage of it and bought a 1500cc Suzuki Boulevard C90T. No need for a car living in San Francisco.

My favorite ride became "the long way home". I worked in Palo Alto, and would take Highway 84 across the San Andreas fault to Highway 1 on the Pacific coast. Took twice as long as usual, and was quite spectacular at sunset.

This video from a fellow Highway 84 enthusiast will give you a feel for the nature of the road around the fault line.



This past weekend, I was able to take the 'zuki out for a ride in the Austin hill country with Randall from Dallas. Wicked fun!

Mardi Gras time again

It's that time of year again. Mardi Gras time! It was 1992 when BR talked a group of us into a road trip from Dallas to the Mardi Gras in New Orleans. I instantly fell in love with the city. As Anne Rice said, New Orleans is a city of "preservation through neglect." So many beautiful old buildings that nobody bothered to tear down.

Every year when Mardi Gras comes around, I do everything I can to justify making the trip. "You deserve a vacation." "You'll get to see so many friends with just one trip." "It's a late Mardi Gras this year -- those are always the best!" "You'll be driving this year, so you'll save money on airfare." And the newest, "BR may not be able to go next year." But when push came to shove, the budget just couldn't absorb the cost.

I guess I'll just have to wax nostalgic.