To our disappointment, Stephen ended up needing to stay in Atlanta one more night and was not able to caravan with us as originally planned. We stopped by the studio on our way out to say our goodbyes and he seemed notably distracted or upset or something. I just assumed that he was tired and overwhelmed by the work he had left ahead of him in the night. We went on our way and later that evening Stephen delicately shared some devastating news with me that he had learned just prior to our stopping by the studio. He didn't want to share it with me before I had to drive home. Our dear friend that we both used to work with at the High Museum for years, Robi Lyle, had passed away almost a week ago. Apparently he had been in a coma for about a month after passing out one afternoon. It was then that Dr.s discovered a massive brain tumor which resulted in his passing. He was at the hospital with his family when he passed away.
Robi was one of the people on our list that we had intended to get in contact with so that he could meet our son, Finnegan. Over the last eight years we had kept in semi regular contact with him- every few months or less we would either email, call or coordinate hanging out. He was supposed to come 'get away' for a weekend at our home. He was supposed to come to several of our parties- but something always seemed to come up. All of the 'should have, would have, could haves' began to run rampant in my brain. We have been in a state of shock I think. We both keep on googling his name to see if there is any more info on him etc. Stephen discovered a blog that he wrote on his myspace page a short while ago. It makes me both sad and comforted to hear his words. I thought it would be nice to share them...
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
| Ghost Man on Second It is funny sometimes, how conversation works, I mean. For instance, let's say you've saddled up to some bar--in this case, a favorite spot on Peachtree Street. You are a regular--like that Norm fellow from "Cheers.". In fact, you know the bar keep. He is a decent fellow, to be sure. Nice hair, good smell--a class act all the way. Let's be honest, you covet his girlfriend. Deep in your heart you know you would love her better, if only you had the chance. But anyway, he's an ok guy. It's a slow night and the two of you are talking up the Braves, the weather, the election and so on. However, you didn't come to the bar for chit-chat. You have important things to do. You are at the bar to pencil in the profound thoughts that have been crawling under your skin all day like a rash. You brought your journal, a good pen and some chewing gum--you're there to write in your book. Small talk is not on the agenda. But you are a good sport, you think to yourself, so you play your part--"Yes, it has been hot." or "You are right, Obama is our JFK," and so on. The whole time, in your head, you think you are doing the bartender a favor by talking, keeping your end of it up, so to speak. He's the lucky one, conversation-wise. You are the party supressing the yawn and looking at your watch on the sly--or so you think. But, you soon discover, the first chance he gets, he abandons the conversation under some made up pretense ("I have to go count the ice") and it hits you, you're the rube, the clown, the unaware waste of a few precious moments. He was thinking the same thing you were--"How do I get out of this?" and the whole time you thought you were the Spalding Gray of the pair--not the Potsie Webber. Well, friend, you were wrong. You may not want to wear it, but you, in fact, are the well known drag (and everybody knows it). Just shut up, drink your beer, and write those scintillating stories that will impress all your friends on Live Journal in silence. Be careful about pointing the finger, that is all I am saying. So. this is my first blog entry. While I have your eyes, I think I can make this experience worth your while by suggesting that if there is someone you love in your life--and I am not just talking about romantic love, it could be the love of a friend, the love between mother and child, or two bankers, whatever--if you love someone, give them a call. Do something nice. Love is all we need, sang the Beatles, but it is also all we really have (of value)--and I say this even though I have an ipod. So, take the hand of the person on the bus next to you and tell them how much they mean to you, how much they add to your life. It won't do you any harm. Keeping it to yourself, on the other hand, can be a real bear. It's like you are the coach of the team during the big game and your "I love you(s)" are time-outs. Don't let the clock run out when you have time-outs in your pocket. That's just fucking dumb. Be the kind of person who says "I love you" easily--that's almost as good as cultivating the rep that you always smell good. Above all, keep on thinking free. -Robi Lyle |
