And so, at long last, he's home to stay.
For the past several months his ashes have been in southern California with his daughter, and this past week he made one more trip north to Oregon. And we all came to see him. All of us Winslows. We placed his ashes in a beautiful little spot a few steps away from his mother and father, as he wished. Looking South, you can see Spencer's Butte where his sister's, my Birth Mother's, ashes were lovingly scattered.
It was a hard day for us. Saying goodbye our Father, Uncle, Friend, Teacher. His son Steve, normally stoic and emotionally strong, broke down during his beautiful eulogy for his father. But with the sadness there was an overriding joy. A joy born from the fact that we had witnessed this man, been so lucky to have known him, to have learned from him, to have been touched by him.
In his memoirs, Uncle Bob makes it clear that he does not consider himself a hero for what he endured as a POW, nor for the rest of his exemplary service in the Marine Corps. "There seems to be a human tendency to exaggerate the difficulties of a difficult experience, especially of doing so makes one's experience seem more heroic. And so it goes, with many of the stories told by Wake Islanders.... I was not then, nor am now, a hero."
I've argued that point with him before, and if he were here now I'd continue that argument. Those of us who knew him can say the same thing: He was MY hero.
My 10-year-old son wrote a letter to Uncle Bob and placed it next to the urn before it was covered with Oregon earth. I peeked at that note on the way to the cemetery, and while it was all personal between my son and his Uncle, he wrote something that says it all. "You were the best Uncle in the whole world. Goodbye Uncle Bob, Love, Jonathan."
For the past several months his ashes have been in southern California with his daughter, and this past week he made one more trip north to Oregon. And we all came to see him. All of us Winslows. We placed his ashes in a beautiful little spot a few steps away from his mother and father, as he wished. Looking South, you can see Spencer's Butte where his sister's, my Birth Mother's, ashes were lovingly scattered.
It was a hard day for us. Saying goodbye our Father, Uncle, Friend, Teacher. His son Steve, normally stoic and emotionally strong, broke down during his beautiful eulogy for his father. But with the sadness there was an overriding joy. A joy born from the fact that we had witnessed this man, been so lucky to have known him, to have learned from him, to have been touched by him.
In his memoirs, Uncle Bob makes it clear that he does not consider himself a hero for what he endured as a POW, nor for the rest of his exemplary service in the Marine Corps. "There seems to be a human tendency to exaggerate the difficulties of a difficult experience, especially of doing so makes one's experience seem more heroic. And so it goes, with many of the stories told by Wake Islanders.... I was not then, nor am now, a hero."
I've argued that point with him before, and if he were here now I'd continue that argument. Those of us who knew him can say the same thing: He was MY hero.
My 10-year-old son wrote a letter to Uncle Bob and placed it next to the urn before it was covered with Oregon earth. I peeked at that note on the way to the cemetery, and while it was all personal between my son and his Uncle, he wrote something that says it all. "You were the best Uncle in the whole world. Goodbye Uncle Bob, Love, Jonathan."
Stand down, Sgt. Major. Rest In Peace.
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