Epilogue

Epilogue

Some may be reading about Bobby and his work for the first time, and it is hoped that the exploration stirred your emotions and feelings and made you aware of a life that you have not known, but has made some imprint on the world. He passed much too soon. Family and friends will read his writings and hopefully stir unplanned memories and recollections of how his life inhabited theirs. Possibly, these recollections will be shared and get into the next edition of this book.

For those of us who knew and loved Bobby, hopefully this book will enhance our memories and provide insights into his life and thoughts as he journeyed through the world. He lives in our memories, ageless and his place in our lives is as certain as the North Star and the cascading of the seasons.

When I am asked by a stranger or new friend how many children I have, I always answer I have three sons. It is difficult to speak of a son in the past tense, since he is alive and real in your memory and your heart.

How does one end a book about your son? In Bobby's eulogy it was mentioned that there may be opportunities to share a kind thought or kind deed and do it in memory of Bobby, and thereby he will live forever. That is a message worth repeating. There is no obligation, only an opportunity to perpetuate and celebrate his life and in doing so you will be free to fly-- too. Following are some insights into Bobby's life from his Eulogy "The Story of a Life", his encounter with Mother Teresa, and the final poem that he wrote.

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The Story of a Life

In San Francisco, spring often bridges to summer with lusty warm April days when the sun is luminous and warm and rejuvenates both man and the earth. It is the type of day that Bobby would prowl San Francisco with his alert eye and camera searching for trees pock-a-dotted with new leaves, or perhaps he would sit in the park and enter random notes in his journal; or it may be a day he would take a long walk to his volunteer work at the museum. On this April 14th in 1992 we laid Bobby to rest on a wide hill overlooking Valhalla Village. The cemetery is almost in sight of and a short walk to a home his grandfather , Louis Mercatante, had built in the 1920's and where Bobby's mother was born. The cemetery is a few miles away from the home he lived in from the age of five and through college and until he began his travels.

Stories for Jake and Juliet is a collection of stories, family history, and insights written for Jake and Juliet Nannariello when they are very young, and intended that at some later and appropriate time they will read and understand some of their legacy that their Papa wants to share with them. Included in this book is the Eulogy I read for Bobby on April 14, 1992 at Holy Rosary Church in Hawthorne New York. The following was included in Stories for Jake and Juliet as an introduction to the Eulogy.

Eulogy April 14, 1992

We come together to celebrate the life of Robert Nannariello. To us he was a son, a brother, a grandson, a nephew, a cousin, a friend, and a friend of his family. My son Bobby hardly lived half of his life. After 34 years and 141 days he died at peace, and in peace, struck down by AIDS. He was born in his mother's arms in New York 34 years ago, and he died in my arms in San Francisco on April 10th. I want to share with you some thoughts about Bobby's journey through life.

A few years ago my oldest son Richard reminded me in a holiday discussion that all children area gifted, and the challenge of every parent is to find and release those gifts from their children. In taking measure of Bobby's life, it can bring us all joy to know he was truly gifted. First, and foremost, he was gifted because he was genuinely a decent human being who lived and died with great dignity.

Also, he had the courage to face a terrible disease for 38 months, absolutely uncomplaining. He was loved and admired by family, friends, and doctors for his courage. He had a brand and volume of courage that most of us will not know and have no desire to test.

He had the gift to take the name his grandfather brought to this country from Italy in 1921 and wear that name with pride, untarnished, and better for his living with that name. He had the gift to build lasting and loving friendships from the years he lived in Munich, the years in San Francisco, and going back to his child hood in New York. I know some of those childhood friends are here today.

Bobby had the gift of loving life. He loved people and cats and books. He loved to travel, and saw much of the world. He loved poetry and walking and writing. He wrote poetry and plays and short stories. He loved to collect rocks, watch cook shows, browse in book stores, lay in the sun, read travel magazines, go to the theater. He spoke fluent German, spoke French, he loved museums, he loved people, and he loved to laugh. .And we recall with love and laughter, that this less than perfect young man could get angry with you. Sometimes too quickly, but always forgiving. So you see Rich, we had a gifted son and brother.

Bobby's mother sent him a beautiful card during those last days in the hospital. The card had a little poem that referred to beautiful days and pretty flowers and birds singing. And all of these are depicted as "A reflection of the face of God." I think people who live and love with dignity and courage, like my son, are also "A reflection of the face of God."

Our Bobby wrote poetry and he wrote this poem in 1982 in a little book of poetry that was printed. It is called "Lesson from the Earth."

That tree on the other side
Of the house-
Lightening hit it last night
In the storm
It died last night.
But it's too big to bury now,
We'll wait some years
And watch it
Rot into the earth.
It may teach us something.

Bobby's lightening was AIDS, and like that tree, he is teaching us something about love, compassion, and the need to expand our definition of humanity in a world where there is need for more reaching out and more touching. Here is another poem Bobby wrote called the "Rest of Your Life."

If you came home blind this afternoon,
I would lead you through the world-
The rest of your life
You would rest
I would walk you across the streets
I would carve your meat at dinner
I would write letters to your mother
And tell you how beautiful the sea was
When we travel there-
I would pour the wine
And trim your hair
And play beautiful music all day
I would dress you everyday
In a rainbow of colors
You would rest
The rest of your life
If you came home blind this afternoon

Bobby knew how to say "I love you' without using the words "I love you'. That's one of the things poets do. Bobby was a poet. Another poem by Bobby is called "Land Marks'

Land marks your love and your hate
And the spot where you were born-
It's written in your passport
It can not be erased
Land marks your feet
Waiting for a subway in New York
Climbing up a mountain
In the Alps
Running on a beach in Mexico
Land marks your first step
And your last.
Land marks your journey
Up and down
You will mark the land
And the land will mark you too.

Bobby left his Land Marks in the footprints of the places he saw and the fingerprints of the people he touched. Bobby loved to travel, he saw much of the world, and his romance with the world never ended. Thinking of my sons, I wrote these lines many years ago in a small poem.

A man plants his seed
Within the womb
And awaits the un-tempered son-
That he can forge to finish dream
That he has left undone-
And so the child becomes a man
And new dreams are begun-
And so the child plants his seed within the womb
And endless dreams are spun.

Bobby was my un-tempered son, and I believe he forged many of his dreams. And he left some dreams undone. But he left the world a little better for having lived some of his dreams, and a lot better for those of us who loved him.

The poet Robert Frost wrote these lines, that I sent to Bobby during his illness.

The heart is still aching to seek
But the feet still question "whither?"
Ah, when to the heart of a man
Was it lever less than a treason,
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or of a season

Bobby did not go with the drift of things. So with great hurt and pain we accept the earthly end of Bobby's season. But never the end of the love and joy he gave us, and of being part of his life.

Last year when Mother Teresa was sick and almost dying in California, Bobby called the hospital, and not able to speak to her he wrote her a letter. On January 12th she responded with a letter and little gold medal attached. A quote from the letter is, "My gratitude will be my prayer for each one of you to be humble like Mary and Holy like Jesus. Please continue to pray for me." So there is a prayer bridge between our Bobby and Mother Teresa. They were bonded. Bobby was thrilled by that letter, showed it to everyone, and it was at his bedside when he died.

On the plane returning from San Francisco, I sat and talked with a little girl named Erika. She is eleven, and because I was writing my thoughts about Bobby, she asked me if I were a writer. She told me of the poetry she writes and I shared with her a book of Bobby's poetry that I had with me, with the promise to send her his other books. She promised to send me her favorite poem. We both are in for a pleasant surprise. And so another bond is formed between Bobby and Erika. And the bonding will continue.

This was Bobby's final poem and is called "I Am Free to Fly"

A bird is flying in the room
I laugh to a degree-
Ambition we have not at all
Nor opportunity.
Anxiety perhaps we share
The walls like bars agree-
But my silence is soon broken
It's pleading melody.
Only at the window high above
Can living fly-
The bird is free to live its life
And I am free to die.

He was free to die and he did with courage and dignity.In a world with much need for compassion, someday you may have the opportunity to befriend someone less fortunate. Someone on the receiving end of some pitfall of life. Someone homeless. Someone ill. Maybe someone with AIDS. And if you have the occasion to do an act of kindness and in doing so take a few seconds to do it in memory of my son Bobby, then in some special way he will live forever.

We are conditioned to be survived by our sons, not to survive them. There is no adequate preparation for this reversal of roles. Bobby's mother and I, his brothers Richard and John, and his Grandmother, thank you for celebrating Bobby's life .

For those of you who knew him and loved him, remember him well with love and often. He is immortal in our memories. For those of you who did not know him, I can tell you he was a good and gentle son.

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Mother Teresa

In January of 1992, Mother Teresa was sick and almost dying and visited California for some extraordinary medical care. This was only several months before Bobby would deal with his final episode of being sick. He had followed Mother Teresa's life and held her as a hero for her good work. Bobby called the hospital in California, I believe it was in Los Angeles, thinking, or possibly just hoping, that he could actually speak to Mother Teresa. Not being able to speak to her he wrote her a letter. A copy of his letter was found among his writings and personal items.

On January 12th, in very poor health at the time, Mother Teresa responded with a letter and little gold medal attached. Bobby's mother still has that little gold medal. Bobby was thrilled by the letter and called me immediately and shared his joy at receiving it. The letter included, "My gratitude will be my prayer for each one of you to be humble like Mary and Holy like Jesus. Please continue to pray for me." I believe Bobby did.

The letter was at his beside when he died on April 10, 1992. Mother Teresa fortunately recovered and lived until September 1997, and after being beatified by Pope John Paul II as Blessed Teresa, she proceeds down the pathway to early sainthood.

There is a joke that is meant with no disrespect. Generally, the joke is about a man standing behind Mother Teresa at the final Day of Judgment when God speaks to every person who every lived one on one. When it is Mother Teresa turn with God, the man in line behind her bends over to overhear what God says to Mother Teresa. God proceeds to gently put his arm around Mother Teresa and says, "You could have done a little more." The humor is matched by the simple truth that we could all do a little more. Bobby did the best he could with his life and would certainly agree that like Mother Teresa---he could have done a little more.

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I Am Free To Fly

The day after Bob passed, I recovered all of his writing by going through his papers and files in his apartment. It wasn't until weeks later that I was able to begin reviewing, cataloging and filing his wide variety of writings. One day his poem I Am Free to Fly appeared on a single handwritten page within a pile of papers. It is one of the few handwritten poems that was found. I read the poem many times and considered the circumstances and time when he wrote it. I can only imagine that it was the last or one of the last poems he wrote.

Bobby sleeps on a hillside in Valhalla, New York. The inscription on his gravestone says "Beloved Son and Brother." A year after losing Bobby, an inscription was added to his gravestone. Two robins delicately balancing on the tips of branches and the words "I am free to fly." And he is!

Another way to consider when this poem was written, is it was not his last poem, but was the first poem written on one of the last days of his too brief journey through life. This poem and the totality of his writings and the biographical information about Bobby, provide some insights into Bobby, but hardly capture who he was --- but it is a beginning.

A bird is flying in the room
I laugh to a degree-
Ambition we share not at all
Nor opportunity.

Anxiety perhaps we share
The walls like bars agree-
But my silence is soon broken
It's pleading melody.

Only at the window high above
Can living fly-
The bird is free to live its life
And I am free to die.

The twelve lines of this poem became the inspiration to write a song that uses the poem as the first verse of the song and with no changes. A second verse was written with exactly the same structure as the poem, and a finale was provided to complete the song. The intention is that the song provides a narrative that is consistent with the original poem that Bobby so beautifully conceived.

The song was recorded by Matt McKeown who wrote the musical arrangement and did the first vocal of the song. Anna Maria Soprano generously offered to record a second vocal of the same song. Please consider using the following links to listen to both versions of the song. Please note that both songs are on YouTube can be accessed by its title “I Am Free to Fly.”

Following is the handwritten version of the poem and, as mentioned earlier, one of the few handwritten poems that we have.

Another poem by Bobby was inspiration to use the beautiful concept and story of the poem to write a song called “If You Became Blind This Very Day." The poem is called “The Rest of Your Life." The poem is a love poem with no need to say “I love you,” because it tells the story of a completely committed and deep love.

Please use the following link to read the poem and following the poem is a link to listen to the song.
Read Rest of Your Life

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