Walking The Bluff, last Midwest Writing Retreat, Lion’s Den Gorge Nature Preserve, Grafton, Wisconsin, March 2013, photo © 2013 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
Writing friends are hard to come by. Friends who are good practitioners of writing, even harder. The last time I saw Bob was at the Milwaukee airport in March 2013. He smiled and gave me a hug, then we walked to separate gates after five days of Sit, Walk, Write with Jude and Teri. We met many years ago at a Natalie Goldberg writing retreat in Taos, New Mexico. The Midwest Writing Group we formed has continued to meet every year since to practice writing. To honor silence.
For me, Bob was one of the pillars of our writing group. He held the space, led the slow walking, kept time when we wrote, engaged in lively discussions at the dinners he prepared. He was an excellent cook. I will never forget his laugh. Bob contributed work to red Ravine and continued to post practices with me after others fell away. I could count on him. Today, Sunday, August 4th, 2013 at 3:30pm, a memorial service for Robert Tyler Chrisman will be held at All Souls Unitarian Universalist Church, 4501 Walnut St., Kansas City, Missouri.
Bob Chrisman, born Robert Tyler Chrisman on May 3, 1952 in St. Joseph, Missouri, passed away peacefully Friday, July 12, 2013, at Kansas City Hospice following a massive stroke. He was surrounded by family and friends who sang to him until his final breath. When I was reading back through Bob’s writing on red Ravine, I realized we had done a Writing Practice together in 2011 on Death & Dying. I find comfort in his words:
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Why all this focus on death at a time of year when the world screams with life and beauty? Why must death occur during these spring months when the earth bursts forth in new life and beautiful shades of yellow-green, when flowers of all colors open and scent the air, and when we can say, “Winter is gone for at least seven months”? Why?
Maybe all this life and beauty replaces the darkness and depression of the winter and I want no more of it. Give me life in all of its forms and beauty. I suffer enough during the winter and I’m over it, but I’m not, it seems.
I notice the beauty and revel in it because I know the bleakness of winter. Joy returns to my life because I know that the good times may not last forever. The friends I carry in my heart as the treasures of a lifetime will die. I must rejoice in their being while they are with me and not put that off for a change in the season or the approach of death.
How is it that the richness of life requires us to know the poverty of despairing times? Does it work like salt on cantaloup or watermelon? The saltiness makes the sweetness that much sweeter as death makes life more precious.
If I could stop death and dying, would I? No, I would let things happen as they must. I might even bring death to those I love earlier if they desired it, but that’s not my place in life. Sitting next to the bedside of a friend who’s dying makes me aware of the value of the time we had together and what a loss their death will be. If they must die (and they must), I can spend the final days and hours with them and carry them and those times in my heart until I pass from this earth.
-Bob Chrisman, excerpt from a 2011 Writing Practice on the WRITING TOPIC — DEATH & DYING.
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GATE GATE PARAGATE
PARASAMGATE
BODHI SVAHA
Gone, gone, gone beyond
Gone completely beyond
Praise to awakening
-posted on red Ravine, Sunday, August 4th, 2013. I miss you, friend. And I carry you in my heart until I pass from this earth. I believe..
redravine.wordpress.com 
Thank you. Deep bow.
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Beautiful tribute to a dear (and sometimes cranky) man. Thank you.
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I loved his writing; only wish I had a chance to meet him! But, glad to have his work to read again!
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Understanding Bob is gone from our group is happening in layers. Until I read this post, I hadn’t thought about the dinners he would prepare – and how I’ll miss them. “Accept Loss Forever” is facing me more and more this year. Thanks for this post, QuoinMonkey. I was grateful to read it.
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Great writing which nudged my heart to pause. The writer has moved on, yet his presence is there in his writings here.
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Thanks to all for stopping by. He does live on in his writing. I think of Bob at the strangest times. When I am driving the Twin Cities during the day, I pass a park where we walked and took photographs when he visited Minneapolis. I think of him often there. Still can’t believe I won’t see him again. I think of visiting Kansas City, too, when he opened his home to our Midwest Writers group one year. He gave us a deluxe tour of his town. Very proud. What will it be like when we meet again.
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It has been a while since I’ve visited RedRavine and have to say I was surprised to read this, to know that Bob had died. Even though I didn’t know him, I always appreciated his writings and his comments on other people’s writings. A very attentive and conscientious being in the writing world that you’ve created here. Thanks for posting this tribute. I will definitely pause today and remember his reflections on death and dying and beauty and joy.
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Gratitude.
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Beautiful tribute, QM. I am sorry for the loss of your friend and fellow writer. I always enjoyed his guest posts here at red Ravine.
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Robin, thank you.
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[…] to the sense of disorientation I’ve been feeling, I lost a writing friend in July. And in November, I found out my blood father died on October 31st, ending any chance he had to […]
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I’ve gotten at least three facebook messages reminding me that today is Bob’s birthday. May 3. Would Bob have been 63 today? It occurs to me that maybe no one will ever close his facebook account, and every year I’ll be reminded of his birthday. I hope that’s the case.
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Teri, I have his birthday in my calendar and it popped up a few times this week. So I’ve been thinking about him, too. I’ve been thinking about his writing and wonder what has become of it all. Still find it strange that he is gone.
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I wonder about his house, too; is someone else sitting on that fantastic porch? I’m so glad we got to go to Kansas City and get the royal tour from Bob.
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Thinking of you today, Bob. I know you are up there, writing away. Miss you.
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I went online yesterday to try to find pictures of McCreedy’s. I was missing that cabin (and MacBess) and wanted to look at pictures. I felt lonely for our times there and so grateful that they happened. Thinking of Bob, too.
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Teri, the photos at this link are some I took at McCreedy’s that have stood the test of time. I remember I was shooting photographs as a practice that weekend. The top photo is of Bob walking his 10,000 steps. I miss walking that beach. Many memories there with the Midwest Writing Group.
https://redravine.wordpress.com/2010/10/10/sit-walk-write-on-lake-michigan/
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The photo of Bob is sensational: the sunrise and his determined walking. He captured those mornings, and he was smart to do so. Thank you. I probably thought I’d have lots of years by Lake Michigan to be so ambitious. Perhaps when we meet by Lake Superior I’ll take the early morning plunge.
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Thinking of you today, Bob. Has it really been three years. You were on my mind when we passed by St. Joseph, Missouri on a cross-country road trip a few weeks ago. I wonder what happened to your writings. Our Lady of the Snows. Miss you.
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Bob, I thought of you again recently. I developed an old roll of found C-41 film having no idea what I had photographed. Turns out the photos were from our walk at Ghost Ranch, New Mexico on the four-season retreat with Natalie a decade ago, and there you were in one of the prints! It must have been 100 degrees that day, and you and Feroza were sitting next to a fan in the small recreation area at the beginning of the hike. It made me laugh out loud. And remember you in all the best ways.
https://redravine.wordpress.com/2019/07/24/ghost-ranch/
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Miss you, Bob. Liz and I think of you often. So much has happened since you left. The years move quickly. You still make us smile.
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