Meghan Aubrey Shillington
Each day since Rob left his human body I've grieved and breathed in the mystery of his sudden passing. As a nurse with a background in home health I can hardly imagine Rob as one of those elders with a pacemaker or a medication box who is visited each week. Neither can I hold him to another path such as contracting coronavirus in a rehab center after suffering major heart surgery. Rob chose his unique path every single day I'd known him. I write to share memories and also to note the imprinting Uncle Rob wrote into my journey; I would not be me without him.
Green, Gray, Gone... the start of a poem I wrote in my youth while I grappled with the atrocity of my Grandpa's suicide. Other lines in the poem spoke of the familiar sweet clean smell Beth told me about while she played hide and seek with Rob in their parents coat closet. Grandpa Colville was known for encouraging his children to excel in academics and to make wise investment choices. Ethan shared memories of the Buick which Grandpa died in, which Rob treasured, which I got to drive a few times.
Rob taught me how to drive smoothly and he told me to always keep my car and home clean. He instilled in me a love for shooting hoops and gave me the courage I needed to play football with the boys at recess because I could throw a spiral from the age of eight. Some of my favorite memories with Mom, Andy, Ray and Ethan occurred at Nana and Robs house and exploring nearby. Rob taught me to keep running when it did not feel good. He taught me to serve an ace on the tennis court and his critical thoughts help me to value my own time and to understand the bargain when I grit my teeth and work twelve hour nurse night shifts. Hard work can hurt but you will gain a lot if you know what you are getting yourself in to. Enjoy the midnight drive.
Rob was never one to fall for a commercials of vacation homes or pleasure for purchase- he really had to agree with a trade before he entered into it even if that was the item by item in his head calculation of his dinner plate while out with friends or family at a restaurant. Rob kept his house stocked with goods purchased at market value and if he was going to pay a pretty penny for something it would be the real real: something hand made, hand harvested, amish, or with another sort of tangible ageless beauty and value. He liked converse and cotton, made in USA. Mom and I felt comfort to learn that Rob died in comfortable pajamas.
Rob took his comfort and his health into his own hands by exercising daily, listening to his favorite music, woodworking and gifting his projects, gardening and eating from his garden, hearing the birds in all their detailed glory. Rob breathed in each moment the way zen teachers tell you you ought to.
I credit Rob with the greatest decision of my life and that was to give birth at home with a Midwife. For my prenatal care I did what he would have done: found the most reasonably priced pay-out-of-pocket doctor to take a 20 week ultrasound, and refused any costly prenatal labs. I work traded by assisting my Midwife to keep the services affordable. A deal is always available to those who seek them, and, moreover it takes a tremendous amount of courage to chose to birth or to die at home. Rob felt the pain of a heart attack on the weekend before his March 25th passing and he did not rush for medications to bandaid reality. Rob made phone calls to loved ones and he let us know he was ready to go. He had lived his life, and it's true; he had. Rob embraced death's rapping at his door and he let death take him away to the blue ridge parkway.
Rest in Peace dear uncle, until we meet again, endless love between us.
