Thirty years ago, my brother Bob was killed in a small plane crash in Germany. He was a musician who lived in the Netherlands, and was on a trip to look at a new small plane with his flying club buddies. The night before, they were given a tour of the factory by the owner, as they were considering buying another plane together. The next morning, October 11, 1996, he was the third person to go up for a test ride, the owner piloting. His friends later reported he was as excited as a kid, waiting for his turn. The plane went up, and some few hundred feet away in the air, plunged downward and crashed. He was killed instantly.
Bob had been living in Europe since graduating from Eastman School of Music in Rochester, NY. He had played clarinet in high school and picked up the oboe roughly a year before applying to music school, and won a full scholarship to Eastman. After that, he studied in Germany under Karl Steins, oboist in the Berlin Philharmonic. During some of his young adult years, he also played with Popul Vu, a hippie-music type group, which was pretty cool and whose music can still be found on the internet. Bob was solo oboist for a bit in Berlin, then auditioned and became 1st oboist in the Munich Philharmonic for 13 years before moving to the Netherlands to continue his musical career, which also included conducting, composing, and radio work. There, he fell in love and became a father. At some point, he played under Leonard Bernstein during a tour, Bernstein later stopping a rehearsal after Bob’s solo and saying, “You, sir, are a genius.” Bernstein – one of the greatest geniuses the musical world has ever seen!
Why am I writing this?
Well, today it hit me that it was 30 years ago that he died. In some sense, the loss of my very dear brother had taken a back seat over these last years after experiencing other significant losses. Suddenly, so many childhood memories flooded my brain – The times he comforted me when I was sad or upset, he being nine years older. His gentle and loving presence counteracted the occasional family argument that jolted me, a small girl hearing loud and angry voices. One time in particular, I had quietly slipped into my bedroom, got out my small plaid-patterned tin dolly suitcase and was starting to pack to run away. Bob seemed to have an instinct of when I needed him. He came in to see me and hugged me and said please don’t go and soothed me until I unpacked and felt better. Sometimes, being the youngest of four, I kind of got lost in the shuffle. I doubt whichever family members were part of the shouting even knew what was going on with me, that I was scared and wanted to escape the yelling going on. For them, it was probably not a big deal, but to me? Awful. I’m pretty sure that at that young age I would not have gone far away, and I am certain that within several minutes, people were apologizing and making up. But Bob knew. He knew I was sensitive and easily frightened.
Today, I wonder – did I ever thank him? As an adult, did I tell him how much he meant to me? How grateful I was that he taught me to ride a bike? Maybe he just knew, for later in our lives, we talked fairly often, during some of his depressive moments. I always told him I loved him. But did he know why? I could count on him to watch out for me, again and again, in many ways. He was a talented man in so many ways, but had some dark moments in which I was able to connect with him and, I hope, help him feel better. It was ironic that flying a plane made him feel so much better, only to be directly related to his death.
I had some tears today that I think were packed away years ago when we first got news of his death. At that time, and for a long while after, I sobbed daily, and eventually it softened. Today’s tears didn’t happen until this afternoon when I was sitting in Mass and realized this was the day – three decades ago – that I lost someone so important to me.
Most years, I write something brief on Facebook about him. But now, I can finally put some words with more meaning to it. He was that special person to me, in a family filled with much love but lacking perfection. I hope there’s a hereafter that’s filled with music and beauty and I hope he’s there and that I can tell him, in my grown-up voice, how much he means to me for all time and through all time and dimension.
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