Never Content to Rest

May 26 2019

For those who think about death,

and wonder

if there is a bus, picking up speed

and heading in our direction

and how, for us, it will end

there are never certain answers.

My old friend

who recently died

was 72 years young.

I try not

to contemplate his final moments,

pinned against a rock

in a rushing torrent

on a cold spring day.

But who else, at such an age

would be running rapids,

like a kid

in a colourful boat

of smoothly sculpted plastic

that looks like it's in motion

even when still?

And he, too, a man in motion

who was never content to rest.

While I will die in bed, I imagine,

fearful, frail, old;

the act of dying

so much worse than death.

I once rescued him

in the same river

when we both were young.

But have let myself go, while he did not,

doing something he loved

until that unstoppable bus

lined him squarely up

and in the intersection of time and place and fate

held him under the waves

beneath a muffled roar.

Then carried him downstream

to the final destination

even the poets and preachers and healers

cannot explain.

So in the place of answers

offer consolation.

And in the simple act

of our communal presence

commemorate a life.

The picture is a stock photo, but it reminds me of our days on the rivers, doing what we called “play-boating”, and what is often called “rodeo” in competitive white-water sport.

I wrote this just prior to a small gathering of friends and acquaintances who came together to reminisce. In the end, I missed this get-together, and so perhaps failed to honour, in a personal sense, the simple act ...of presence. But the concept still stands: we seek community in mourning; we recognize death in formal ritual as well as simple togetherness.

The poem may seem unduly solipsistic in the way it dwells on my personal angst. But I felt it necessary to write with the intimacy of the first person; and I think, in these circumstances, we all can't help but reflect on our own mortality, as well as how we are doing at life. The title, though, was all Robin: a doer and adventurer; a deep thinker; a restless spirit.

Here is Robin Sare's obituary, as it appeared in the Thunder Bay Chronicle Journal. (He was christened “Robert”, but his friends all knew him as “Robin”.)

At 72 Robin did not have time for getting old - Peter Pan with a dental practice. He could debate healthcare reform, discuss ancient Persian politics, ski the glades and beat his 30 year-old nephew in a sprint down the beach. Our beloved Robin died May 18, 2019 while living the life he loved - at full speed. Growing up in Montreal, Guelph and Lac Ouimet, Robin was especially adventurous, always leading with true purpose, a song at the ready, or reciting a poem. As a young man, his days were filled with sock-hops and malts, a summer spent lifeguarding at the Banff Springs Hotel scavenging leftover lobster to afford rides by horseback through the Alberta wilderness. He put everything into fuelling his adventures - writing home for money because he had saved none; having second or third helpings from friends on camping trips because he believed in travelling light. After university in Toronto, he began his dental career with C.U.S.O in Uganda until forced to leave by the politics of the region. He was drawn to Thunder Bay by its rugged wilderness and vibrant culture. There he married, raised a family and immersed himself in local activities. His life was one of searching - for everything: truth, the meaning of life and how much of it could be experienced. Old man of the river, he outlasted generations of his paddling partners and still kept a characteristic spring in his step. Together, and over decades, they constantly defied the river's grasp, with heroics to the end. The bravery and endurance of his last paddling partner and the recovery team cannot be overstated and will always be remembered. A celebration of Robin's life is planned with his loving family on Tuesday, May 28th in the Valhalla ballroom from 11 a.m. until 2 p.m. with words of tribute beginning at 12 p.m. In lieu of flowers or donations in Robin's memory, please help out someone in need.

He is the moss on the hills, the rushing water, the loon's cry echoing in the bay. He will be with us always.