#102
From Brian to Bobby
August 22, 2009 – 3:08pm
My dear friend,
Your dad called me this morning to tell me what happened last night. I am so sorry for him and your family, and you, of course. You were too young and had too many wonderful and thoughtful things to bring to the world yet. It’s impossible for me to believe this. Right down to my core, you are bigger than life…
To me at this moment you are still here, so I just want to say things to you that I would say to you ALIVE, before I lose this feeling.
Okay, I want to admit something that you’ll find funny. Nearly every time I wrote to you or responded to your emails, I would actually finish without thought or pretense by saying, “I love you Bobby, – B”. I’d read back the message (’cause they were all good reading, actually, right?), but when I got to the that ending, of course, I’d quick hit the back-space bar. It was such an adolescent reaction on my part. Didn’t want to come across too “touchy-feely”, I guess.
I know you knew this, of course. But I can assure you that immediately after this, I’m going to comb through everything we said to each other, because I’ll feel so much better if I actually let it slip, just one time.
I’m sad that we’re not going to talk again, at least in this physical reality. If we can talk in some way, any way, you know I’m game! I’m not afraid of ghosts or nothin’, and you know that. Of course I don’t want you to challenge me on this fearlessness, unless it leads to a good laugh on your part! And maybe if I could make a request or two: please check into some of my theories that we’ve talked about, could you?
I imagine you are where you are, an eternal present. You’re the sum of all that Bobby is and ever was: all aware, all joyful, all as sweet and happy as you ever were and we ever experienced. I’m also kind of imagining there’s some part of me there with you, and some part of all the special people in your life. Physical reality might make us think that this existence is the center of everything, but I am starting to imagine that it’s not just YOU that’s in some other state of existence, that I am there with you (and everyone you know, as well), and perhaps we feel the greatest empathy of all, at this moment, for the “physical me” and the “physical Kurt” and everyone else who’s in such pain right now here where I’m writing from…
It really is “physical”… “pain” that is, isn’t it? I don’t think your ribs hurt now, obviously, but to go a little further, you’re not sad now, either, or anxious or tired. You’re not frustrated, and while it seemed you couldn’t have a mean thought in that sweet body or yours, if anything like that did exist, I am certain it will become dust in the purely physical world.
You know, I want to say that I am so glad that we started video chatting in the past couple weeks. It was so amazing to hear your voice and see you. It was great to pop in on each other every now and then and talk til we were too tired. Man, I am so glad I got to tell you my slap-stick, wacky “Japanese game show” version of my small bowel obstruction hospital saga. You laughed so hard. That was really fun.
That was Monday maybe? Gosh, I can’t believe this, Bobby. I really can’t.
Okay, One last little confession. Years ago, when you were living in Fishtown, I actually saw you at the grocery store. I knew it was you, because you were dressed in the same clothes as your Myspace photo at the time, and you had on an Urban Outfitters shirt (…which I figure only an Urban Outfitters employee would be caught dead in, right?) You were looking in the meat section. Pretty sure you were in front of the steak options, because I was on the other side of an island filled with hams.
When I looked over and realized it was you, I froze up. I wasn’t afraid of contact with you because of cepacia or anything. I was kinda clueless about that stuff at the time. I really just wanted to meet you under more special circumstances than the meat section at the Thriftway (my god, there’s puns flying around like crazy here). As the years went by and I was made aware of the dangers we faced by physical contact, I became scared that you’d think I thought you were “dirty” or something, and nothing could have been farther from the truth.
I’ve imagined it a million times, how it probably should have gone… I say “Bobby?” And you turn around, as nice and open and honest as I’ve since known you to be. But maybe you’re thinking, WHO’S THIS???? And I say, “It’s me, Brian McTear!” Then we talk across the ham island for as long as we can before our groceries go bad.
The ham island… It was right there! It was THE MEET SECTION! … What a cosmic joke! A perfect 5 or 6 foot buffer, plenty of space to say hi, but not give each other our germs. And of course we’d agree that neither you would buy a ham for several days, nor would I buy steak! I can’t believe it’s only becoming clear right now…
Well, none of this is to say that we didn’t have an amazing relationship, even if the most of it was in the last eight months of your life. It really was one of the most important things in my whole life, and I know you felt the same. Now, I hope it keeps going somewhere in some other plane. I trust it does. We’ll never talk again here, Bobby, but I really believe that freed up from the line of time-space, you and me are just fine. We’re ALL just fine.
I do love you, Bobby. Thank you so much for such a wonderful friendship.
B
August 22nd, 2009 at 3:38 pm
Brian, thank you for keeping the inspiration going in such a time of deep sadness for us all. I thought I was going crazy today because I wanted to text Bob about a million times – so much left unsaid but I know he hears it all (and probably did before
) as I’ve told him on many occassions – and didn’t have the courage to tell you face to face… Your letters to each other have been so inspirational on so many levels- of course, when I told Bob that he was like “really??? That means so much…” in his usual humble way. Thank you for continuing with your honesty and humor on this sad day~
August 22nd, 2009 at 7:17 pm
Hey Bobby, I just got the news this morning about your death. I could tell you did not want me to get off the phone. I was rushing to goto work as usuall. I was hoping we could set up one more workout session, as we discussed yesterday. As I said God bless, I will keep on developing the video,and get it out their to the CF,and patien world as we discussed. You reall fought this thing. I have never met anyone, even in the martial arts world, or special forces that really worked as hard for a goal as you.
Love ya man
God bless again
August 22nd, 2009 at 11:42 pm
Brian, I worked with Bob for a couple of years at urban. I have to say that he is the most genuine person I have ever met. I am truly saddened that he is no longer with us. I hope that all of us, as I know I will, can continue in this life carrying on his kindness and generosity. I know the bond you two forged is something so special it transcends anything we can see. I will keep both of you in my thoughts and will go on keeping his memory close.
Keith
August 23rd, 2009 at 6:08 am
My Dear Son,
It is with such heaviness in my heart that I write this to both you and your dear friend Brian. I know how hard you worked to be “well”, how hard you worked on being a great friend and loving family member. I know how hard you worked on this blog and the forthcoming video. Please know how many lives you touched and Brian, please be well, I hope I can meet you sometime soon. Son, I loved you from the momemt you were born and I am going to have to tell the world the story of your birth (you know, the one I tell you at every birthday). Just can’t do it now. I will love you for as long as I live and we will see each other in the beautiful place where you are now at peace.
From a book by Warren Hanson called, “The Next Place”:
The next place that I go will be as peaceful and familiar as a sleepy summer Sunday and a sweet untroubled mind. And yet it won’t be anything like any placde I’ve ever been…or seen..or even dreamed of in the place I leave behind.I won’t know where I’m going and I won’t know where I’ve been as I tumble through the always and look back toward the when. I’ll glide beyond the rainbows. I’ll drift above the sky. I’ll fly into the wonder, without ever wondering why.I won’t remember getting there. Somehow I’ll just arrive. But I’ll know that I belong there and will feel much more alive than I have ever felt before. I will be absolutely free of the things that I held onto that were holding onto me. The next place that I go will be so quiet and so still. That the whispered song of sweet belonging will rise up to fill the listening sky with joyful silence, and with unheard harmonies of music made by no one playing, like a hush upon a breeze. There will be no room for darkness in that place of living light, Where an ever-dawning morning pushes back the dying night. The very air will fill with brilliance, as the brightly shining sun, And the moon and half a million stars are married into one. The next place that I go won’t really be a place at all. There won’t be any seasons..winter, summer, spring or fall. Nor a Monday, Nor a Friday, Nor December, Nor July. And the seconds will be standing still…while hours hurry by. I will not be a boy or a girl, a woman or a man. I’ll simply be just, simply me. No worse or better than. My skin will not be dark or light. I won’t be fat or tall. The body I once lived in won’t be part of me at all. I will finally be perfect. I will be without a flaw. I will never make one more mistake, or break the smallest law. (NOT THAT YOU EVER DID!) And the me that was impatient, or was angry or unkind, will simply be a memory. The me I left behind.
I will travel empty handed. There is not a single thing I have collected in my life that I would ever want to bring except….the love of those who loved me and the warmth of those who cared. The happiness and memories and magic we shared. I’ll be embraced by all the family and friends I’ve ever known. Although I might not see their faces, all our hearts will beat as one, And the circle of our spirits will shine brighter than the sun. I will cherish all the friendship I was fortunate to fine, all the love and all the laughter in the place I leave behind. All these good things will go with me. They will make my spirit glow. And that light will shine forever in the next place that I go. ”
I love you, as your Pop Pop would say ONE HUNDRED MILLION,xoxoxoxoxo Mumsies
August 23rd, 2009 at 9:55 am
Brian and Bobby,
My job isn’t. I am fortunate to be part of a village and we are all connected, all to each other. (know it or not). And the CF is connected to us too. The uninvited guest who changes us all and makes connections we wouldn’t otherwise have. That’s where all the lessons are.
What more can a person ask than to learn something from everyone you meet?
Someone once said that this life’s purpose is to teach us that we are all connected (to shatter the myth of disconnectedness). Then we are ready for the next.
with ultimate respect to you all,
Marianne
August 23rd, 2009 at 6:09 pm
From Brian’s mom to Bobby’s parents my heartfelt sorrow for this terrible loss. Since becoming a parent I have always believed in the universality of parenthood – that we become parent to all children and morn the loss of everyone’s children, being keenly aware of the pain that such a loss brings. Since two of my adult children have cystic fibrosis I find it extremely difficult to deal with such an event as this. But I have to say that Brian’s last message to Bobby was wonderful and made me see things from a very different perspective and Bobby’s mother’s was beautiful. I love the quote from the book “The Next Place”. I hope the blog will continue, perhaps with mutiple people with CF sharing their thoughts and experiences. I wish it could still be Bobby speaking. but I believe he would like it to continue.
August 24th, 2009 at 7:46 am
Thanks for this letter….i am so sorry
my thoughts go out to bobby’s family and to you as well
i know no one will take his place, but i hope you continue to write on this blog…whatever it evolves into, i will keep coming back
xo
August 25th, 2009 at 7:19 am
Bobby – it had been some time since we hung at The Bean and talked about music over too-sweet mango smoothies. I hope you have found peace – true peace.
Brian – your words shattered me, my friend. I can only imagine your loss over your friend.
To Bobby’s family – congratulations on raising an incredibly kind and humble man. You must be special people and I am sorry for your loss.
August 26th, 2009 at 6:38 pm
Your story deserves a movie some day.
September 20th, 2009 at 2:41 pm
hi Brian, Barbara,
whoever reads this. I never really called him Bobby for some reason. I’m not sure why because everyone else did. I think it’s because people always commented about how Bob and Dylan went together…
I just saw on my phone (Facebook) some messages from Tom and Kurt and knew something had happened. I visited Bob in July ( when I was in Philadelphia and have been back in touch with him since, he told me about this blog.) I feel bad that I haven’t read it since now. I read your post, Brian, and totally lost it. It’s weird to find out about these things electronically, but I live in Alabama and have lost touch with his friends and family.. so I’m thankful that people are writing.
Anyway. I remember meeting him in photography class, and wearing my favorite outfit on days I had class because I had a huge crush on him. I was really terrible at developing film in the darkroom so he always helped me. We dated on and off for about two years until I went to college in New Orleans. He always called me a restless soul.
It was a tricky relationship at the time. There was the first barrier of the age gap, which is not that big now but at the time he had so much more freedom than I did. I just read his last post about playing music in his 20s. I was 18 the last year we dated, so I remember that being a really great time, too. I’d go to the love syndicate shows and be a groupie I guess but really I just wanted to watch him play.
I think the only reason that it didn’t work was because I had to get out of Philadelphia, grow up, find my bearings. The ironic thing is that I would love to live there now. I miss it.
I kept in touch with him when I moved to New Orleans and it was not long after we broke up that he met someone else. I remember finding out about that…I had been at a party or something and I was unusually upset about it. I mean, here I was in Louisiana. After a little while I got over it and was happy for him and went on to have other boyfriends and kept in touch with him every now and then. This summer I came up to Philadelphia and he saw that I was coming up there. We got back in touch and he asked me to come visit him in the hospital. I’d been back a few times and hadn’t seen him but this time I had a day to myself and took a long walk, all the way from south street to his hospital room. I got him a book on the way.. After Dark. It is a really strange book about a series of events that happened in a 12 hour time span in the middle of the night. He was always such a night owl that I thought he’d like it.
Honestly seeing him was the highlight of my trip. How one person can light up a little hospital room is beyond me. There was this woman next door screaming her head off and Bob would just laugh. All I could think about was how nuts I would be if I had to listen to that, but he was just there smiling as if we were in some coffee shop. i got an update on all of his family, his goals, this blog, and while he said he was having a rough time you would have no idea. I envied his happiness. A couple of weeks after I came back to philly. he sent me some messages and we talked about meeting up.. but didn’t. I was showing a friend from Birmingham all the historic sites. I wish I had seen him again.. now knowing that I can’t.
I am jealous of those of you that got to spend your lives with him. We probably could have remained very close friends if I hadn’t moved so far away. I tell people all the time that my first boyfriend, my first love, really, was the very best. I smiled the whole time I was with him, until I had to leave. I’m glad I got a reminder of what it is like to be with him briefly this summer.
My heart aches for you, Brian, his brothers and sisters, his mom, dad, Luke… friends.. Chris, Andy.. all of us whose lives were better because of him. I’m so sorry for your loss.
Dylan
September 21st, 2009 at 11:07 pm
Hey Brian,
I was so sad to check this website tonight and find out what happened. Even though I only emailed with you both a couple of times, I still feel a certain camaraderie because of our respective situations. I am so sorry for your loss.
Bobby,
Where ever you are, I know that you are living the good life CF free! Live it up man!! I wish that I had more time to get to know you better, but I will always be grateful for the encouragement that both you and Brian gave me.
To family and friends: I am so sorry for your loss; you will always be in my thoughts and prayers.
This website has been so inspirational to me to live the best possible life that I can with my CF. Thank you SO MUCH, and I really hope that it can still exist in some form or another.
Lots of love,
Becky
October 15th, 2009 at 11:46 pm
It’s the middle of the night in October. I just finished chatting with you a few hours ago Brian not about anything in particular (other than your computer almost overheating) and I felt the need to read this post again. It’s so full of raw emotion and love for your friend. It is truly inspiring to read. Not because of CF or spirituality. The more I read this post, the more I feel it’s a about the love of two friends and how you both just get life. Thank God for close friends. You only need a few to make life better.
Peaceful Thoughts,
Josh
January 10th, 2010 at 9:15 pm
Finding the right site…
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