     
|
Forrest Wright, RIP
(January 19, 1951-May 6, 2007)
I'm okay—so long as I don't have to talk about it or hear about it or think about it much—but we must all soldier on. It's what he would have wanted.
My brother was made of the finest substance, a man with total integrity and a special sensitivity to children and animals.
It was early this morning, May 06, 2007, we got the call from his wife, Grace,
he had passed in his sleep.
Cardiomyopathy is the big word that applies; genetically his heart was weak.
Yet in every other way that matters it was a mountain mover: it set his sights high and dreamed the improbable dream, actually several of them.
An inventor by temperament and practice, his Holy Grail of ubiquitous "Binagraphics" eluded him, though in seeking it he uncovered dozens of liberating ideas for us all.
In his spare time, the time he spent to put bread on the table, he supervised the laboratory for the Oakland University School of Engineering.
Many students of solar power, inner-city kids in the engineering-enrichment program, contestants in ultimate fuel economy races, and hopeful denizens of the brave new world of virtual reality looked to him for guidance and inspiration.
Though largely unknown, and certainly unheralded, outside his circle of family and friends, he was the silent, underlying tide that lifted all boats.
That bountiful source of energy is stilled now.
Yet the pattern of him, what makes him who he always is, remains in our living universe for all to cherish.
That nourishing idea of 'the pattern' comes from Robert Pirsig, author of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, who lost his teenage boy to a senseless street crime.
I wonder, though, in handling death are not we all like the prehumans in the Stanley Kubrick movie 2001: A Space Odyssey, pounding and railing against an incomprehensible black obelisk rising to the stars?
It certainly feels that way to me at times like this.
As John Donne says, "any man's death diminishes me."
Yet somehow these last few I've personally experienced, and particularly this one, have left me feeling, well, ennobled: connected to all that is good about the species and motivated to keep the green side up.
(Personally, though, I'd rather have my brother back.)
Hopefully everyone who knew my bro got to have a moment or two in the sun with him; I had one of mine 34 years ago outside Las Vegas where he was stationed in the Air Force.
During the day we frolicked like 12 year olds, scrambling up rocky hillsides, drawing Magic Marker images of a flying saucer on his MG Midget windscreen and taking a photo of me pointing at it as if it were up in the air. At night we'd sit by the moonlit salt flats probing the meaning of things and our roles in them.
Many sunny stories like this for all of us who love him so.
And we lucky ones got an "I love you" or two
in those last couple of years of the debilitating affliction.
To the family let me simply say, as devastating as this is now, I have it on good authority he wants us to carry on, keep our chins up, and eke out the happiness to which we're entitled.
Good night sweet man.
The sunshine of your life draws us together, forward in love. It makes us want to be the best we can be and, like you, make the most of our time here.
The Tide recedes but leaves behind bright seashells on the sand,
the sun goes down but gentle warmth still lingers on the land.
The music stops, yet is echoed on in sweet refrains . . .
For every joy that passes, something beautiful remains.
— M.D. Hughes
Memory nourishes the heart, and grief abates.
— Marcel Proust
Brian Wright, May 8, 2007
Remainder of Personal page to be constructed...
This is my personal and family page. Will include a brief bio and then some information on the family history [coming soon].
|
