I didn't know Herman well. He was from my small home town. I certainly knew him, but he was a bit younger than me. When you leave your home town and rarely return this makes a difference.
I knew his brother Gerry Remodo better. But, to say that, makes it sound like I was close with Gerry. I wasn't.
I wasn't close with Gerry or Herman.
And yet, I grieve.
In this case, I am not grieving for a lost youth or what could have been. I'm not casting my mind back to possibilities of love and friendship and what I let pass me by.
I grieve for all of us.
I grieve for the whole world.
That sounds grandiose, but there are people you only appreciate once they are gone. You think their candle has gone out, until you realize they lit a thousand more.
Herman Remodo lit, at least, at thousand candles.
As I said, I didn't know Herman well. We shared some time and space together, but being younger meant our circles only overlapped a little. But, when I think of Herman I can only smile. I don't mean to diminish his loss, but he always felt like a permanent smile.
I cannot imagine thinking of Herm and being angry or upset or anything else negative. He was (and is) a fixture of pure light in my imagined community of home. I feel the same about Gerry. We haven't talked in years and years, but Gerry evokes calm smiles and light hearts and nothing else for me.
I am so very sad I can't do the same right now.
Gerry's heart is broken. It is crushed and heavy and he is trying to understand how to scoop it back up.
I don't have any answers, except to say thank you.
Herm and you are some of my best memories of Port Hardy. Your smiles and obvious loves for your friends fills me with nostalgia and warmth.
I wish I knew a way to make you feel better, but I don't.
I can only say Herm lives on in my heart and my family too.
Thank you for sharing him with the world.
