I'm sure a lot of you have seen this, but it is such a radiant picture of Pat that I jumped the first time I saw it. Thank you Sheena for creating this beautiful announcement, and you too, Kyle, for creating the lovely program of the service. I'll try to get that picture on as well.
Love to all Patrick friends everywhere,
Lisette
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Dear Stanford Friends of Pat,
This is another one of my inadequate attempts to thank you for your devotion to Pat. Your time, creative effort, Pat stories, conversation, Pat tour, dinners, hand holding, and shared crying will resonate with us always. You provided some of the few moments of relief we have known since his death. My tears fall on the keyboard as I try to summon the words and strength to tell you how dearly I hold your sympathy.
Sheena, you were the driving force behind the memorial service March 18th. I cannot thank you enough for organizing such a well-attended tribute. You managed to create beauty and meaning out of misery. Your heart showed through gallantly. You spent three days sharing the best and worst moments. The stories of Pat tutoring you in math for eight minutes and then yakking for three hours were like gold to us. To see the actual math building the next day was even better. It helped us picture both of you. I was desperate to know he had good moments and you proved that he did. I know we sapped your strength and your tears, but you gave us many good memories at a time when we are dwelling on the horror of loss. You are a dear to do so much for him and us. We will value your kindness for the rest of our lives. You have help to repair the shattered bond to him.
Lauren, you have also shared good and bad moments, but mostly bad, and you came all the way to Connecticut to do it. Then you were at Stanford when your own family was in crisis. Your quiet manner, your kind eyes, your silent grace were a model of what a good friend should be. Pat was lucky to have you and so are we. You have sacrificed your time, money, and academics because of us and I can only tell you that we are deeply grateful but also worried that you are under so much pressure. School, especially Stanford, waits for no one. I will feel better when you actually graduate. I hope your teachers are truly understanding. You should get A's based on character alone.
Ryan, you have given us some of the best moments since we found out the news. I cling to your stories and your pictures. I lost the most precious thing in the world to me-one of my children-and you gave him back to me as much as possible. I loved your eulogy. Your stories of Pat's humor (“Intense. Like campers?”) will stay with me always. I wished I could have stayed with you all night listening to Pat stories. You knew him as well as anyone and I treasure your memories more than my own. I felt that you shared my grief intimately because you filled in many years since he left home. Your pictures with captions in chronological order are safely backed up and I've looked at them many times. You were dear to follow up with such a time-consuming email. I know how long it takes to write. This one has been taking up much of the evening.
Kyle, you sacrificed so much time coming for the memorial all the way from LA. I was so glad to see you because I remember what a good friend you were freshman year. I was always relieved that Pat had a friend to drive down to LA. Thank you for the dedication of being there for us, of escorting us around campus with Sheena, and sharing all your support. Thank goodness he had you and your mom to take that fabulous picture in front of the Hoover Tower. It takes my breath away to see you both in such a magnificent setting, the world opening up to you on such an impressive level. Now it's left to you, and all other friends of Pat's, to make the most of your lives, to have the conversations, think the grand thoughts, have the intimate dinners, and see the world which Pat cannot see any longer. Do it for yourselves. Do it for him. Most of all, know that we love you and miss you desperately. Saying goodbye was like saying goodbye to Pat all over again.
Mr. Barth, I wish I had another night just to speak with you alone. It sounds like you knew Pat's first loves-German and music-and you could have explained much more to me about their effect. You understood the power of those poems, and I felt that you, better than anyone, could see their pull on his psyche. Somehow, I want everybody to see that. I want them to know that, as irrational as they may be, he had his reasons for doing what he did, and his reasons had a purity that he felt could be achieved no other way. I don't mean to glorify his actions. I want the trail that he followed to make some sense, even if it should never be followed again. I felt you understood that because you had an uneasy respect for the literature he loved. I would like to send you a CD of his music (if you wouldn't mind). And if anyone else would like a copy, please send me your address. I would be honored to have you listen.
To the very kind gentleman who gave the opening remarks, pardon me for not remembering your name. It's one of the many details which have slipped my mind as I try to absorb new sides of Pat's life. You were so right about friends indicating the quality of a person's character. His friends are now precious to me not only because they were Pat's life, but because they are perfect in and of themselves, just like Pat. Thank you for pointing that out so eloquently.
Andrew, your letter read by Sheena was a high tribute to Pat. You wrote so honestly about the dread with which life can be filled. To be honest, I was crying so much at the time that Pat would miss out on your friendship, that I didn't hear all of your letter. I would greatly appreciate it if you or Sheena could forward it to me. I would love to read it over and over. You were among Pat's best friends. Ryan has told me a few funny stories of visiting you at “Chappy” (do I have that correctly?) and getting loosened up before working on graphics at the Daily downstairs. Then Pat got to leave while Ryan stayed until 2:00 AM or so to put the paper to bed. Sounds like Pat got the better end of those evenings. Ryan said you were a good friend. I thank you with all my heart for the good times you gave Pat. I wish those years could have lasted forever. They seem to be the best of Pat's life thanks to friends like you. I give you my love and admiration for the moments when he was happy with you. I would very much like to send you a CD of his music also. If you could manage to forward your eulogy and send me your address I would be grateful.
To Alice, Patricia (whose stories of Trivial Pursuits sound a lot like mine with Pat. He knew trivia and I did not), Ali (whose pictures I have not even looked at yet. I'm nervous that I'm going to ruin them), Kathryn (who put us at ease about the storage unit. We did get his things successfully thanks to you), Meena (whose sad eyes and quiet voice spoke volumes of your love for Pat), Mike Love (whose facility with blogs has been an inspiration to me. All my love and thanks for creating this online tribute where I go for consolation and communication), and everyone else whose names I have forgotten-I love and cherish your thoughts for Pat. They have kept me going during the worst time of my life, and I will remember your kindness always. Please stay in touch, come visit so we can show you where Pat is resting, and call to cry with me. It helps immensely.
All our love,
Pat's family--Lisette, Bob, Libby, and Colin
Sheena, you were the driving force behind the memorial service March 18th. I cannot thank you enough for organizing such a well-attended tribute. You managed to create beauty and meaning out of misery. Your heart showed through gallantly. You spent three days sharing the best and worst moments. The stories of Pat tutoring you in math for eight minutes and then yakking for three hours were like gold to us. To see the actual math building the next day was even better. It helped us picture both of you. I was desperate to know he had good moments and you proved that he did. I know we sapped your strength and your tears, but you gave us many good memories at a time when we are dwelling on the horror of loss. You are a dear to do so much for him and us. We will value your kindness for the rest of our lives. You have help to repair the shattered bond to him.
Lauren, you have also shared good and bad moments, but mostly bad, and you came all the way to Connecticut to do it. Then you were at Stanford when your own family was in crisis. Your quiet manner, your kind eyes, your silent grace were a model of what a good friend should be. Pat was lucky to have you and so are we. You have sacrificed your time, money, and academics because of us and I can only tell you that we are deeply grateful but also worried that you are under so much pressure. School, especially Stanford, waits for no one. I will feel better when you actually graduate. I hope your teachers are truly understanding. You should get A's based on character alone.
Ryan, you have given us some of the best moments since we found out the news. I cling to your stories and your pictures. I lost the most precious thing in the world to me-one of my children-and you gave him back to me as much as possible. I loved your eulogy. Your stories of Pat's humor (“Intense. Like campers?”) will stay with me always. I wished I could have stayed with you all night listening to Pat stories. You knew him as well as anyone and I treasure your memories more than my own. I felt that you shared my grief intimately because you filled in many years since he left home. Your pictures with captions in chronological order are safely backed up and I've looked at them many times. You were dear to follow up with such a time-consuming email. I know how long it takes to write. This one has been taking up much of the evening.
Kyle, you sacrificed so much time coming for the memorial all the way from LA. I was so glad to see you because I remember what a good friend you were freshman year. I was always relieved that Pat had a friend to drive down to LA. Thank you for the dedication of being there for us, of escorting us around campus with Sheena, and sharing all your support. Thank goodness he had you and your mom to take that fabulous picture in front of the Hoover Tower. It takes my breath away to see you both in such a magnificent setting, the world opening up to you on such an impressive level. Now it's left to you, and all other friends of Pat's, to make the most of your lives, to have the conversations, think the grand thoughts, have the intimate dinners, and see the world which Pat cannot see any longer. Do it for yourselves. Do it for him. Most of all, know that we love you and miss you desperately. Saying goodbye was like saying goodbye to Pat all over again.
Mr. Barth, I wish I had another night just to speak with you alone. It sounds like you knew Pat's first loves-German and music-and you could have explained much more to me about their effect. You understood the power of those poems, and I felt that you, better than anyone, could see their pull on his psyche. Somehow, I want everybody to see that. I want them to know that, as irrational as they may be, he had his reasons for doing what he did, and his reasons had a purity that he felt could be achieved no other way. I don't mean to glorify his actions. I want the trail that he followed to make some sense, even if it should never be followed again. I felt you understood that because you had an uneasy respect for the literature he loved. I would like to send you a CD of his music (if you wouldn't mind). And if anyone else would like a copy, please send me your address. I would be honored to have you listen.
To the very kind gentleman who gave the opening remarks, pardon me for not remembering your name. It's one of the many details which have slipped my mind as I try to absorb new sides of Pat's life. You were so right about friends indicating the quality of a person's character. His friends are now precious to me not only because they were Pat's life, but because they are perfect in and of themselves, just like Pat. Thank you for pointing that out so eloquently.
Andrew, your letter read by Sheena was a high tribute to Pat. You wrote so honestly about the dread with which life can be filled. To be honest, I was crying so much at the time that Pat would miss out on your friendship, that I didn't hear all of your letter. I would greatly appreciate it if you or Sheena could forward it to me. I would love to read it over and over. You were among Pat's best friends. Ryan has told me a few funny stories of visiting you at “Chappy” (do I have that correctly?) and getting loosened up before working on graphics at the Daily downstairs. Then Pat got to leave while Ryan stayed until 2:00 AM or so to put the paper to bed. Sounds like Pat got the better end of those evenings. Ryan said you were a good friend. I thank you with all my heart for the good times you gave Pat. I wish those years could have lasted forever. They seem to be the best of Pat's life thanks to friends like you. I give you my love and admiration for the moments when he was happy with you. I would very much like to send you a CD of his music also. If you could manage to forward your eulogy and send me your address I would be grateful.
To Alice, Patricia (whose stories of Trivial Pursuits sound a lot like mine with Pat. He knew trivia and I did not), Ali (whose pictures I have not even looked at yet. I'm nervous that I'm going to ruin them), Kathryn (who put us at ease about the storage unit. We did get his things successfully thanks to you), Meena (whose sad eyes and quiet voice spoke volumes of your love for Pat), Mike Love (whose facility with blogs has been an inspiration to me. All my love and thanks for creating this online tribute where I go for consolation and communication), and everyone else whose names I have forgotten-I love and cherish your thoughts for Pat. They have kept me going during the worst time of my life, and I will remember your kindness always. Please stay in touch, come visit so we can show you where Pat is resting, and call to cry with me. It helps immensely.
All our love,
Pat's family--Lisette, Bob, Libby, and Colin
Sunday, March 19, 2006
The Essential Patrick
I've included below the text of my reflections of Patrick from the Berlin memorial service. - Ryan Wirtz
-- -- --
Over one month has passed since Patrick’s Berlin community learned of his death and the people close to him here have gathered—and continue to gather— in a variety of capacities to reflect on him.
On February 15, we held a celebration of Patrick’s life at the Stanford Center in Berlin. Beyond that, however, we have seen a constant conversation about Patrick on this side of the Atlantic because his life meant so much to so many. We’ve mourned him in our city’s smoky cafes and tea houses, at brunches and dinners, in universities and workplaces and discos, and privately, in reflection, in our cars, subways, parks and living rooms.
We want all of you in the U.S. to know that Patrick’s legacy in Berlin continues; it is alive as the tree that will be planted here in his memory. On the ground in Berlin, among those who knew him, his presence is as palpable as his absence, in how much people miss him and how much he meant. And today, I want to reflect on my Patrick story with you all, as one of the many voices that Patrick has changed.
I want reflect on the reasons why he came to Berlin, why he lived his life deliberately in the spirit of what his friends and I called “The Essential Patrick”, and to capture and celebrate his legacy.
Patrick Wood’s incomparable time with us touched us profoundly. He touched us long before the tragedy of his passing, a remarkable event for all of us that will leave many questions unanswered and many hearts crying.
He touched us not because we have lost his love of humanity and its questions -- but because he dared to ask them at all.
Patrick engaged with his world and sought to understand it, and press back against it at its most fundamental levels. He had come to find in his heart the answers to questions for which there were no words, only feelings, and endeavored to find for himself an understanding of the earth in a way that was uniquely his, an insight that he imagined and articulated with his own distinctive voice.
This is what I will miss most about my friend Patrick; yet this will be to me his most enduring honor.
Patrick and I knew each other casually at Stanford, but grew close together during the spring 2004 quarter here at Stanford in Berlin. I remember the dinner that marked the beginning of the term, when he was hobbling around the table in crutches.
It reminded me how Patrick could be painfully, yet endearingly, clumsy and disorganized – not because his exceptional gifts ever failed him but because he was absorbed in a world of ideas and music (and yes, even gossip and banter) that distracted him from the minor details. He was keenly aware of this, though, and he celebrated it.
Patrick didn’t do details unless he had to, and on his first of his many nights in Berlin, when he set out to explore the legends of the city’s nightlife at Kino International, he missed the stairs and dramatically and ungracefully fell. And thus, at the start of the term, he defended his perceived lack of grace and glamour, charmingly defensive and sensitive. That was the essential Patrick.
Patrick came to Berlin to learn lessons that he could only find here. He learned them well and in the two years we were together in this city, the arc of his amazing grace beautifully illuminated himself and those around him.
In Berlin, Patrick came to understand and embrace who he was, but he cared more about what he could and would become. This element of essential Patrick is evident in a monologue from one of his favorite films, "All About My Mother", when the feisty drag queen Agrado proclaimed, “A person is more authentic the more he looks like what he has dreamed for himself to be.”
In Berlin, Patrick was able to become the young man he dreamed of becoming. He found answers to questions that could be lost in the lights of the city and the serenity of Germany’s countryside. He could laugh at the absurdity of it all.
Patrick and I would talk about the world’s big issues and the irrelevant. We would joke about mathematics, about love, about Germany and the Germans, about art and music and literature. We would question together politics and the value of the ironic hipster scene, and we would discuss strategy to transform our dreams and ambitions into reality.
Last summer, when we had graduated, we explored Munich together and met at the university where the S.S. captured the White Rose student group in 1944. Their humanist and intellectual approach to resisting the Third Reich particularly inspired Patrick because he was a thinker and identified in those who could think with him.
Patrick could relate to this more than he could any politician. He didn't care for wars or occupation, and he didn’t care much for most political issues; instead, everything that he found fascinating about Germany either died long before 1933 or was a product of the 21st century.
However, he found a sort of purity in being lost in thoughts and ideas and therefore embraced the White Rose for doing what he thought was the same. He came to appreciate the political questions in the way that he cared about the world and cared about humanity and where it was going.
He followed the world because he was of the world, and read voraciously to understand its complexity. In his own words, his insights focused less on discussions about the balance of power and more on balancing equality. And in Berlin, Patrick saw himself as an expatriate who wanted to break stereotypes and counter the negative attitude towards Americans that he saw pervading his German friends, colleagues, and society. But he did it all so subtly and gently. That was the essential Patrick.
After finishing at the University and walking around the English Garden, Munich’s central park, we bought some blueberries at a kiosk and found a patch of grass along a stream in the garden. We reclined together. Patrick asked me to open my laptop and bring him a German symphony; I chose Beethoven.
Under our slice of Bavarian heaven, we reclined on the grass under the cloudless sky, blue as robin's eggshells, and talked for hours as the sun set. We even ventured to consider our own response if we were approached by Hans Scholl to join the White Rose. In true Pat fashion, he said that if he were approached by any German guy as attractive as Hans, he would have done whatever he had asked. Patrick would often reference that day as one of the most special of our time together and I am comforted that he knew how much he was cherished.
Patrick was a serious student who was growing into a gentle man, with a grin and goofy laugh that brightened the world around him. He solved puzzles and proofs, created music like a star and amazed everyone with his brilliance. Yet, he did it all so quietly, without ever wanting recognition, without ever wanting to admit to himself how spectacular the essential Patrick could be.
He was becoming the great man we all knew he would become and was finding peace with himself to accept that he would do things differently. That would lay the foundation and his big work had only just begun.
There was in Patrick the most amazing promise for things to come; in Berlin, he found a place where he could realize it all. He embraced the city and the city embraced him. In this environment, he flourished. By his own admission, Patrick had some of his happiest days here, and, in fact, some of his happiest nights.
But Patrick was in pain and his soul fell burdened under the weight of his illness and the struggle of his own emotions—emotions that, like so many aspects of his life, were superhuman. But his struggle was superhuman also and ultimately defeated him.
Patrick was a young person who could not continue to fight, despite his gifts; who could not continue to cry, despite the joy he brought to his world; and could not continue to live, despite his energy and passion.
He left the world just as he lived in it—deliberately, not impulsively, and after what he felt was a rational, calm introspection. We have no choice now but to accept the fact that he felt the time had come, but I also take comfort in knowing that he left us painlessly and that he also felt that he would finally find peace.
Patrick knew he was not alone when he was alive. He knew that legions of people would reach out to him and he communicated that acceptance in his own Patrick ways. He leaves behind many people who loved him and many communities that will mourn his loss.
I had dared to dream of a Patrick who would grow old with his friends, whose wrinkled face would betray a lifetime of those laughs and smiles that we would share together and those laughs and smiles that only he could bring. But Patrick had every gift a man could want except more tomorrows than yesterdays. And we will never forget him.
This is what I will miss most about my friend Patrick; yet this will be to me his most enduring honor.
Patrick and I knew each other casually at Stanford, but grew close together during the spring 2004 quarter here at Stanford in Berlin. I remember the dinner that marked the beginning of the term, when he was hobbling around the table in crutches.
It reminded me how Patrick could be painfully, yet endearingly, clumsy and disorganized – not because his exceptional gifts ever failed him but because he was absorbed in a world of ideas and music (and yes, even gossip and banter) that distracted him from the minor details. He was keenly aware of this, though, and he celebrated it.
Patrick didn’t do details unless he had to, and on his first of his many nights in Berlin, when he set out to explore the legends of the city’s nightlife at Kino International, he missed the stairs and dramatically and ungracefully fell. And thus, at the start of the term, he defended his perceived lack of grace and glamour, charmingly defensive and sensitive. That was the essential Patrick.
Patrick came to Berlin to learn lessons that he could only find here. He learned them well and in the two years we were together in this city, the arc of his amazing grace beautifully illuminated himself and those around him.
In Berlin, Patrick came to understand and embrace who he was, but he cared more about what he could and would become. This element of essential Patrick is evident in a monologue from one of his favorite films, "All About My Mother", when the feisty drag queen Agrado proclaimed, “A person is more authentic the more he looks like what he has dreamed for himself to be.”
In Berlin, Patrick was able to become the young man he dreamed of becoming. He found answers to questions that could be lost in the lights of the city and the serenity of Germany’s countryside. He could laugh at the absurdity of it all.
Patrick and I would talk about the world’s big issues and the irrelevant. We would joke about mathematics, about love, about Germany and the Germans, about art and music and literature. We would question together politics and the value of the ironic hipster scene, and we would discuss strategy to transform our dreams and ambitions into reality.
Last summer, when we had graduated, we explored Munich together and met at the university where the S.S. captured the White Rose student group in 1944. Their humanist and intellectual approach to resisting the Third Reich particularly inspired Patrick because he was a thinker and identified in those who could think with him.
Patrick could relate to this more than he could any politician. He didn't care for wars or occupation, and he didn’t care much for most political issues; instead, everything that he found fascinating about Germany either died long before 1933 or was a product of the 21st century.
However, he found a sort of purity in being lost in thoughts and ideas and therefore embraced the White Rose for doing what he thought was the same. He came to appreciate the political questions in the way that he cared about the world and cared about humanity and where it was going.
He followed the world because he was of the world, and read voraciously to understand its complexity. In his own words, his insights focused less on discussions about the balance of power and more on balancing equality. And in Berlin, Patrick saw himself as an expatriate who wanted to break stereotypes and counter the negative attitude towards Americans that he saw pervading his German friends, colleagues, and society. But he did it all so subtly and gently. That was the essential Patrick.
After finishing at the University and walking around the English Garden, Munich’s central park, we bought some blueberries at a kiosk and found a patch of grass along a stream in the garden. We reclined together. Patrick asked me to open my laptop and bring him a German symphony; I chose Beethoven.
Under our slice of Bavarian heaven, we reclined on the grass under the cloudless sky, blue as robin's eggshells, and talked for hours as the sun set. We even ventured to consider our own response if we were approached by Hans Scholl to join the White Rose. In true Pat fashion, he said that if he were approached by any German guy as attractive as Hans, he would have done whatever he had asked. Patrick would often reference that day as one of the most special of our time together and I am comforted that he knew how much he was cherished.
Patrick was a serious student who was growing into a gentle man, with a grin and goofy laugh that brightened the world around him. He solved puzzles and proofs, created music like a star and amazed everyone with his brilliance. Yet, he did it all so quietly, without ever wanting recognition, without ever wanting to admit to himself how spectacular the essential Patrick could be.
He was becoming the great man we all knew he would become and was finding peace with himself to accept that he would do things differently. That would lay the foundation and his big work had only just begun.
There was in Patrick the most amazing promise for things to come; in Berlin, he found a place where he could realize it all. He embraced the city and the city embraced him. In this environment, he flourished. By his own admission, Patrick had some of his happiest days here, and, in fact, some of his happiest nights.
But Patrick was in pain and his soul fell burdened under the weight of his illness and the struggle of his own emotions—emotions that, like so many aspects of his life, were superhuman. But his struggle was superhuman also and ultimately defeated him.
Patrick was a young person who could not continue to fight, despite his gifts; who could not continue to cry, despite the joy he brought to his world; and could not continue to live, despite his energy and passion.
He left the world just as he lived in it—deliberately, not impulsively, and after what he felt was a rational, calm introspection. We have no choice now but to accept the fact that he felt the time had come, but I also take comfort in knowing that he left us painlessly and that he also felt that he would finally find peace.
Patrick knew he was not alone when he was alive. He knew that legions of people would reach out to him and he communicated that acceptance in his own Patrick ways. He leaves behind many people who loved him and many communities that will mourn his loss.
I had dared to dream of a Patrick who would grow old with his friends, whose wrinkled face would betray a lifetime of those laughs and smiles that we would share together and those laughs and smiles that only he could bring. But Patrick had every gift a man could want except more tomorrows than yesterdays. And we will never forget him.
Monday, March 06, 2006
Dear family and friends of Pat!
My name is Tobias, I would call myself a friend of Pat. I got to know him in Berlin in 2004 and spent some wonderful times with him there, as well as in Munich or in the Bavarian Alps, where he visited me and my family for a few days last year. I will try to set a picture here...
(and sorry for my english - it might not be perfect)
Those last weeks were, as for all of you I think, the sadest I have had in my whole life so far.
When you grow up, the whole world seems to be kind. There are your parents, taking care of you. There are your friends you are having good times with. Everything seems just to be wonderful, in your little protected world.
But, you’re getting older. And the older you get, the more terrible things are going to happen.
People around you, people you love, are getting illnesses, others might have accidents... and others would die.
As this is not difficult enough to handle, Pat left by his own decision. Left all of us with nothing but questions. And there is no chance to ever be able to tell him, that he is really loved.
Defenitiley, the world has started to scare me. What will be next...?
Pat set this sentence in one of those internet-profiles:
„Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen“
It is the begin of a poem by „Friedrich Rückert“ that Gustav Mahler edited in his „Rückert-Lieder“ (=Rueckert-Songs)... I feel free to put he english translation in this blog, although it really is „hard stuff“, especially in this situation:
I am lost to the world
with which I used to waste so much time,
It has heard nothing from me for so long
that it may very well believe that I am dead!
It is of no consequence to me
Whether it thinks me dead;
I cannot deny it,
for I really am dead to the world.
I am dead to the world's tumult,
And I rest in a quiet realm!
I live alone in my heaven,
In my love and in my song!
(original from Friedrich Rückert)
I am just thinking, this is something he wanted to tell us.
For me, there is nothing left but looking at pictures of him, remembering the wonderful times I was able to spend with him and be sad about those, I did not have him around. I know, I should not question so much, due to there will never be any answers.
I am trying to keep as much as I got to know of „Pat’s world“ alive in my world. And I promise, I always will.
„I rest in a quiet realm“ – I really hope, you do, little Pat!!
Thursday, March 02, 2006
Dear Lauren, Mike, and other contributors,
This is the hardest letter I've ever had to write--publicizing thoughts on the death of my son. It's inconceivable even though I knew it was a possibility during his last year at Stanford. I will be contemplating that dichotomy the rest of my life. I have no response, only questions, mostly pointed at myself. It is a torment from which I am reeling. There's a quote in Night by Elie Wiesel about knowing God through the questions we ask. Pat and I contemplated that idea once briefly, and then went on to something else. At the time it didn't seem important. Now, all I do is question. I am completely humbled, maybe somewhat like Wiesel during the Holocaust, but mostly I feel devastation that such a pure treasure in my life is gone. He knew I loved him will all my heart. Why I could not save him? That's one of my questions.
From the depths of this personal horror, the one message that becomes clear is to thank all of you. The only relief I have received is from friends like you. Your lovely cards, long letters, flowers, trips to Connecticut, participation in Pat's funeral, organization of a memorial service at the Stanford Center in Berlin, and now another memorial service at Stanford has moved us over and over again to tears. Yes, we are in pain and your demonstrations have sharpened that pain, but that is a good thing I am learning and that is why I'm so looking forward to seeing you at the service on March 18th. You have helped me to answer a few questions. Did he have good friends? Was he loved? Yes, thanks to you. Your memorial service will give me the reminders I desperately need even though I will constantly be wondering where Pat is when I'm out there. Without them I sink into unanswered questions and personal pain. I'm learning that shared pain is easier. I am deeply grateful that you have allowed me to do that and I take comfort from reading about yours.
Pat wanted more than us in his life. He would accept nothing less. I hope we can take some solace that he wanted more because he was the dearest person on earth and he needed to give his love to another, but I am still miserable.
Sincerely,
Lisette Rimer, Pat's mom
From the depths of this personal horror, the one message that becomes clear is to thank all of you. The only relief I have received is from friends like you. Your lovely cards, long letters, flowers, trips to Connecticut, participation in Pat's funeral, organization of a memorial service at the Stanford Center in Berlin, and now another memorial service at Stanford has moved us over and over again to tears. Yes, we are in pain and your demonstrations have sharpened that pain, but that is a good thing I am learning and that is why I'm so looking forward to seeing you at the service on March 18th. You have helped me to answer a few questions. Did he have good friends? Was he loved? Yes, thanks to you. Your memorial service will give me the reminders I desperately need even though I will constantly be wondering where Pat is when I'm out there. Without them I sink into unanswered questions and personal pain. I'm learning that shared pain is easier. I am deeply grateful that you have allowed me to do that and I take comfort from reading about yours.
Pat wanted more than us in his life. He would accept nothing less. I hope we can take some solace that he wanted more because he was the dearest person on earth and he needed to give his love to another, but I am still miserable.
Sincerely,
Lisette Rimer, Pat's mom
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