Silhouettes of Real Things

Grandpa Bernie died from a stroke in 1994. I was only three years old then so I don't have any memories of him. But there have been bits and pieces of him left behind that affected me as I got older. I have a stuffed rabbit and a picture of him handing it to me on my first Easter. I have stories of him and the kind of man he was that was told to me by my family. Most importantly, I have a book of poems he wrote which was published after he passed away.

His hard-to-read cursive was transcribed, typed, and published by friends, family, and coworkers who loved him. It was a labor of love in an attempt to keep his thoughts and musings alive in as tangible a way as possible. These little pieces of him: The stuffed rabbit, the photos, the memories, and the book, are what he left behind. Shadows of the man I don't remember and yet have changed my life in ways impossible to describe on paper.

According to anyone who speaks of him, Bernie was a great man. It's best explained from the memoriam in the book written by his old boss, Jim Bush. "We have a habit of making people look better after they're gone than they looked during their lifetime. That's sad because few could live up to their press clippings if they were alive today. But Bernie could."

When I was eleven years old, my father gave me my own copy of the book which was passed around freely to loved ones during his funeral, so I was told. Dad told me the story and I took the book to my room to read it. I'm not very good at poetry, but I've had a big passion for writing stories since I was very young. From the day I had the book in my hands, I wanted to be an author. It became my biggest dream to publish my own books and share myself through my stories like how my grandfather was shared with me through his poetry.

Bernie wrote in two separate short messages, "Dreams are as shadows, you can only see them on a sunny day." "When the clouds clear and the sun reappears, I hope your shadows are still there." (page 17)

My grandpa never wanted to be a writer. He was proud and content with his work in construction, which was a profession he held in reverence and one that I do as well. He built structures that will far outlast many generations. Shadows of the people who created these structures will reside within the bricks and wood until the last breath of the buildings themselves are snuffed out by time. Even so, he wrote poetry to help him make sense of the world around him. He wrote about friendship, work, family, loss, and hope. These thoughts remain preserved in his book, 'Silhouettes of Real Things.'

I lost my copy of the book. Someone I called a friend at the time took it from me and threw it in the mud. The reaction was random and I doubt she even knows why she did it. Luckily, another copy was available and I kept that with me until college. I couldn't take everything with me and, unfortunately, I had to leave my books behind when I left. Years later, my father mailed my books back to me, but my grandpa's book was missing. My father isn't one to follow through on promises, and I wasn't able to get a new copy before I ended up not on speaking terms with my father.

A different friend of mine heard the story of this book and how it meant to me. She was devastated to hear that I was torn from the catalyst of my greatest dreams. She searched everywhere online until she found one copy of the book for sale and she gifted it to me as a surprise. I was at such a loss for words because we were on the other side of the country from anyone who would know who Bernie was and yet by some miracle, this piece of me found its way back.

Since the day I learned about the poems, I have written several things myself and hope that one day I may leave behind shadows that can inspire dreams for others. Though it might be difficult to have hope for dreams on the cloudiest days, I hope that I'm able to bring enough sunshine to make these silhouettes bold and plain to see. Like my grandfather, I want to be an inspiration and a good role model. He and I share the same feelings about many things, I believe. None more obvious than our opinions on these echoes of ourselves. No one lives forever, but we live longer in these remnants left behind. He knew this well, and so do I.

"Silhouettes of real things

as agile as the viewer,

As complicated as the light source.

You can sit,

Stand,

Wiggle,

Walk or run,

It is there this shadow.

I love shadows.

Shadows have no weight.

They are uncomplicated.

Are they you?

What fancy to view the fleeting,

Graceful,

Move of shadow." (Bernie Bruce, Page 22)