What a month it has been, first my Uncle Bob, then my Advancement Chair, then a charter and founding member of my Pack, then Andrew Breitbart and now Lex is gone and I can hardly believe it.
As Forest’s mother said, “Death is just a part of life” but this death I am finding is hard to process.
I only met Lex once, but as is wont in this “profession” an email relationship wasn’t out of the ordinary. When I needed a gift for my neighbor’s son who had been accepted to the Naval Academy, Lex was available with a suggestion or two. When I had a worthwhile piece posted on the blog, Lex was there with a link and usually some commentary that showed how erudite he was in so many matters, one doesn’t become a fighter jock without a quite a bit of brain power within them, don’t you know. Yet, he was never one to look down upon anyone for their lack of education of knowledge, and I think that was the appeal of Lex the writer, for he was approachable.
Lex wrote how most of us think, we have grand and expansive thoughts but struggle to put them on paper, but Lex it seemed was able to capture the grand thoughts and have them spill out on the page in such a language that those who read them could find comforting. He was without a doubt a true Renaissance man, warrior, writer, husband, father, student of life and teacher to all who would listen.
To his wife, son and daughter, I send you my most heartfelt thanks for sharing him with us and our prayers will be with you all, today and all the days to come.
Lex died doing what it was that he loved and I know I cannot do his passing justice so I shall leave it with a passage that I think he would have found to his liking.
The pale, the cold, and the moony smile
Which the meteor beam of a starless night
Sheds on a lonely and sea-girt isle,
Ere the dawning of morn's undoubted light,
Is the flame of life so fickle and wan
That flits round our steps till their strength is gone.
O man! hold thee on in courage of soul
Through the stormy shades of thy wordly way,
And the billows of clouds that around thee roll
Shall sleep in the light of a wondrous day,
Where hell and heaven shall leave thee free
To the universe of destiny.
This world is the nurse of all we know,
This world is the mother of all we feel,
And the coming of death is a fearful blow
To a brain unencompass'd by nerves of steel:
When all that we know, or feel, or see,
Shall pass like an unreal mystery.
The secret things of the grave are there,
Where all but this frame must surely be,
Though the fine-wrought eye and the wondrous ear
No longer will live, to hear or to see
All that is great and all that is strange
In the boundless realm of unending change.
Who telleth a tale of unspeaking death?
Who lifteth the veil of what is to come?
Who painteth the shadows that are beneath
The wide-winding caves of the peopled tomb?
Or uniteth the hopes of what shall be
With the fears and the love for that which we see?
- Percy Shelley
Godspeed sir … fair winds and following seas…