David Robinson (Dave), my big brother.
For most of my life I did not know Dave existed. You see Dave was a war child. My father served in the Canadian Forces during WWII, and he met Dave’s Mom there early in the war. My Dad was underaged ( a lot more than they knew) so he had to have his commanding officer’s permission to marry Dave’s Mom, which was finally granted. Dave was born thereafter. I didn’t know about Dave’s Mom until after Dad had died, but I did recall the story my Dad used to tell of being in a field with a girl friend when the sky darkened with German bombers flying low over England to strike a target, so low he could see the pilots’ faces, and that he was forced to slap the girl as she was hyper-panicked and trying to run. He feared for her life. That was Dave’s Mom. She and Dad survived and the rest is history.
Then, in 2004, my sister received a phone call from a British man looking for my mother. It was Dave. After some 59 years he had reached out to connect with the Canadian family he never knew. He was gentle on the phone, kind even, and very concerned about “rocking the boat”. The fact that none of us knew he existed was a shock to all, but a pleasant one as well.
After speaking with Dave it became clear that after the war, his mother came to Montreal with little Dave in hand to start a new life with my Dad. Unfortunately, given my Dad’s six years of front line experience during the war, he suffered PTSD, and the marriage crumbled. By 1948, Dave and his Mother were back in the UK, seemingly lost to us.
In 2007, my wife and I went to see Dave in England for the first time. When I met him it haunted me that his eyes were the same as my departed Dad’s. It took awhile to get past that. He got out of his wheel chair and gave me the world’s biggest bear hug. At 220 lbs then. I was no shrinking violet, but there was no denying the sheer strength my brother possessed. At the same time he openly wept at the joy of meeting his little brother for the first time. In a way, which wasn’t aware to me at the time, those two qualities were the pillars of my brother – strength and sensitivity. The third pillar, as I was to find out, was his sense of humor, which we shared. His wife Carol was also a great support for him (and me) during these early days, and those to follow. Sadly, Carol passed away a year before Dave, and just as I thought that surely he wouldn’t survive it, he did. Strength.
During the 18 years I had with my brother Dave we had many good times – despite his chronic military injuries (and mine). Dave even managed to travel to Canmore, Alberta for my wedding even though he had to use an electric wheel chair to move about. I discovered he was a big a flirt as me (maybe more). He was the subtle one and I was the not so subtle one. We shared our love for helping others in need – a calling to serve. We enjoyed the same rock music. He enjoyed reading my blogs here. Although we did not always agree on my conclusions, he was supportive of my writing. He talked me through life issues, my dealings with Veterans Affairs over my own injuries, the nightmare that was Newfoundland politics, and even issues with my kids. In other words, he was living up to one of his own sayings: “to share is to care”. I see his traits, which are in many ways genetic traits, in his own children and grandchildren.
Ian, Dave’s only son, had a career in the security/police services, and is now a retired writer (the writing gene is in our family). He too suffers from health issues that can be traced to the roots of my father’s Newfoundland family. Yet, he too remains strong and determined to meet challenges and beat them – which he continues to do much to his credit.
Carolyn, Dave’s only daughter, has been a care giver her whole life – personally and professionally. Carolyn and her husband Spence have two great sons, and Dave was very proud and loved both of them. He cherished Aden’s special qualities and the two of them apparently shared a special sense of humor. Unfortunately, Aden suffers from a serious physical condition that is also in our Newfoundland family’s gene pool. Dave’s other grandson Sam was also very special to him. He is very much like Dave, and that can only be good for him in this life. He also has the gift of writing, and the poem he read at Dave’s funeral was truly beautiful.
Despite the tumultuous and sad beginning of Dave’s life, he was able to persevere as a truly compassionate husband, father, grandfather, uncle, and yes brother. You could not keep his spirit down. He could not be turned. He gave me the gift of having a brother who was all the things I wished I could be, and therefore aspire to be. Despite being bullied for “not having a father” as a child in the UK school system, he grew up to be a wonderful father. He never became embittered at all. He was my big brother. God bless him.
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