And How I Will Miss It

I am going to try to move on from the Rob Smith story. When tragic events happen, bloggers have an unfortunate tendency to turn things around and write as if the events happened to them. That's tasteless. But I don't think I'm quite done covering this one.

I didn't know Rob, except from reading his blog. A lot of bloggers talked to him on the phone and met with him in person. They know a lot more about him than I do. So I am surprised at the size of the hole he is leaving in my life.

For me, grief is a thing that comes in waves. One minute, I don't feel it at all, and the next, it's pressing down on me with startling intensity. I felt a wave today when I realized I wasn't going to see "http://www.gutrumbles.com" in my Sitemeter referrals any more. Ever. If his site stays up, the appearances will taper off until I rarely see one, and then they'll be gone. Never again will I see those letters on the list and shoot over to his blog to see what he said about me. And every morning, for some time to come, I'll feel as if I should make my daily visit to Gut Rumbles, and I'll remember that there is no point. And why.

I don't know why he had such a grip on me. There was something about Rob Smith that made you root for him. His wife ran off with another man, prostate cancer left him impotent and incontinent, he became estranged from a young son he adored, and to top it all off, he got fired for coming to the Blogosphere to share his pain. Something he clearly had a driving need to do. He couldn't win, and he couldn't even talk about losing without being hammered for it. Not just in his comments, but at his job and in divorce court. How can you not be drawn to a story like that? How can you not go to the website of a person like that every day, to see if things are finally getting better? Every day that he chose to get up in the morning and face life, however imperfectly or unwisely, he impressed the hell out of me.

I could not resist including the man in my prayers every day. It only took ten seconds, and who else was on his side in this world? A daughter and a grandmother in her nineties. I knew from long experience that prayers for self-destructive, hardheaded people were the least likely kind to work. But at least I felt like I was doing something. Not enough, clearly. One of the odd things about life is how hard it is for us to help each other.

I'll tell you something else. I saw a terse and critical notice of his passing today, on the blog of someone who could have troubled himself to show a little more grace. Someone who, as a writer, isn't fit to blow the crumbs out of Rob's keyboard. I don't know if it was preoccupation with other things, which is something of which I am often guilty, or just ordinary pettiness over a trivial disagreement, but I would not want to have it on my blog today. A man only dies once. You don't get two windows of opportunity to show proper respect. Something to think about, while this window is still open.

If the man mattered to you at all, don't trivialize him by typing ten ill-chosen words about him on your Blackberry with your thumbs. Say something that proves he entered your thoughts once in a while. Expose your feelings. If you have them.

I never understood how Rob Smith could stand to reveal so much of his emotions, but right now, I am amazed at how others can write so much and never even discuss theirs. It makes you wonder. Is anybody home?

The reasons people come here are so very different. Some of us have to write; others do it coldly, the way a mason lays bricks for money. I never thought about that until just now.

Rob Smith had to write. Probably more than almost all of the rest of us. Small wonder that he should be snubbed by the other kind of blogger.

I hope I managed not to make this about me. I just wanted people to know how I felt about Rob. I will do my best to move on to other subjects. But you know how I am.