Uncle Pete

Many things have happened here in Bulgaria since I last posted however things back in the States seem to be taking the forefront. While I am EXTREMELY happy one of my best friends, Krista Ryan, is recovering well from her bicycle accident, one of my Uncles had an accident of his own last week. He ended up on life support and made the decision that he did not want to live that way. Therefore, Thursday, June 9th, 2011 my Uncle, Peter Hoffman, died with family and friends in North Carolina. I happened to be in Vratsa (Bulgaria) for the swearing-in ceremony of the new group of volunteers when I heard the news and felt I should do something to honor him. I decided to buy a lily and place in on on the Kiril and Metodi statue in Vratsa. I felt this was fitting as they were the founders of the Cyrillic Alphabet and Uncle Pete was not only an educator for part of his life but a true inventor in many ways. This post is dedicated to my Uncle Pete, his wife Suzanne, and their daughter Tanya. 

Uncle Pete has also been someone I've looked up to for his originality, creativity, and all around style. We also now share the commonality of serving as a Peace Corps volunteer in Eastern Europe (he served in Poland in the early 1990s). From family videos to emails I received while here in Bulgaria, Uncle Pete has remained an inspiration. Plus, he chose to donate his body to science. He asked his wife and daughter to put his cremated ashes under a beautiful tree of their liking. His memory lives on through his family, friends, and all who dare to be different. Or, in other words, through all of us who dare to be ourselves. I hope his memorial service which will be in August turns out to be an extremely beautiful day because he deserves it. To all of Uncle Pete's family and friends back home, I will be thinking of you all and hoping you are able to learn on one another, focusing on the amazing life Uncle Pete led. 

I will end this post with "We Die" by one of my favorite poets, Diane Ackerman:

We Die
for Carl Sagan


I

We die despite appointments and feuds,
while our toddler,
who recently learned to say No,
opens and shuts drawers
a hundred times a day
and our teen braces
for the rapids of romance.

We die despite the contracts
and business trips we planned,
when our desk is untidy,
despite a long list of things to do
which we keep simmering
like a pot of rich broth.

We die despite work we cherish,
marring whom we love,
piling up a star-spangled fortune,
basking on the Riviera of fame,
and achieving, that human participle
with no known object.

II

Life is not fair, the old saw goes.
We know, we know, but the saw glides slow,
one faint rasp, and then at length another.
When you died, I felt its jagged teeth rip.
Small heartwounds opened and bled,
closing as new ones opened ahead.
Horror welled, not from the how but the when.

You died at the top of your career,
happy, blessed by love, still young.
Playing by evolution's rules, you won:
prospered, bred, rose in your tribe,
did what the parent gods and society prized.

Yet it didn't save you, love or dough.
Even when it happens slow, it happens fast,
and then there's no tomorrow.
Time topples, the castle of cards collapses,
thoughts melt, the subscription lapses.
What a waste of life we spend in asking,
in wish and worry and want and sorrow.

A tall man, you lie low, now and forever
complete, your brilliant star eclipsed.
I remember our meeting, many gabfests ago,
at a crossroads of moment and mind.
In later years, touched by nostalgia,
I teased: "I knew you when
you were just a badly combed scientist."
With a grin, you added: "I knew you when
you were just a fledgling poet."

Lost friend, you taught me lessons
I longed to learn, and this final one I've learned
against my will: the one spoken in silence,
warning us to love hard and deep,
clutch dear ones tighter, ransom each day,
the horror lesson I saw out of the corner of my eye
but refused to believe until now: we die.