Goodbye Friend
I recently heard of the passing of a wonderful, decent, dignified, kind soul who I was fortunate to know. His name was Roger Campbell, and he passed away at 104 years old, a few days after his Christmas birthday. If you were lucky enough to meet Roger, you would not forget him. He had an amazing life, but more importantly, when he met you, he listened to you, and found a way to make you feel seen. He had an impish smile and a twinkle in his eyes, which expressed his joy in knowing you and his joy of life. I met Roger about 10 years ago when his son Jeff registered him for my Dance for Parkinson’s class. I asked Jeff how long his dad had Parkinson’s and he said that he didn’t have Parkinson’s, but had balance and mobility issues. He also loved music and dance. At the time, I had no clue of Roger’s age because he was a handsome man with a lot of vitality.
At the beginning of every class, I would arrive early to set up a circle of chairs for the students. When Roger realized I was doing this, he arrived before me to set up the chairs. One time, I was talking with him as we were setting up and he mentioned casually that he had been in the Battle of Normandy during WW2. After I processed this shocking detail, I turned toward him and asked, “Roger, I don’t usually ask a person’s age but….how old are you?” A little embarrassed, he said, “94”. I told him that his life force belied his age, and that he shouldn’t be shy about sharing it, or even some details about WW2; the class would be inspired by his experiences and gain more insight into his long life. From that moment on, he revealed more about himself, deepening our understanding of him.
At one class, a fellow Vet who was in his early 70’s sat near Roger in our circle. He was a salty guy, and I mean that lovingly. He wore a Patriots sweatshirt, Red Sox hat and occasionally a Bruins jersey. This Vietnam vet came to class haltingly at first, and then more willingly as time went on. One exercise is “passing the energy” which involves each student moving in their own way, and then passing the movement to the next person. When it was this man’s turn, although he normally struggled with mobility, he moved with grace and poignant intention. It was a beautiful moment for us to witness as he displayed his humanity and vulnerability. Roger approached the man at the end of class and said “you move beautifully; I use you as my model”. Roger often gave validation, and everyone knew he truly meant what he said.
One of my favorite memories was at our annual pot luck in my backyard on a beautiful summer day. After everyone left, Roger and his son Jeff sat with me while he shared some quite vivid details of his times during WW2. Despite the suffering of war, Roger shared his self-deprecating sense of humor (a survival technique?) when he said he liked to tell people he landed on Omaha Beach even though he actually landed on Utah Beach because Omaha was more impressive!
Our class got to celebrate the historic occasion of his 100th birthday four years ago with cake and cards. It was a memorable moment for all of us, and we felt a sense of gratitude at having this special guy as part of our community. How lucky were we!
My last interaction with Roger was on the phone a little over a year ago. We were vacationing in North Truro. I received a spontaneous call and “Roger Campbell” popped up on the screen. I was delighted, and I said, “Roger??” The reception was poor but when I found a reasonably good place to talk, we chatted for about 25 minutes. I told him he was always welcome to Zoom into class with us to say hi, and that everyone asks about him. At the end, I asked him if I could make something sweet for him sometime. He paused and said, “well my aides won’t let me eat that stuff but once a month they let me because well, I am so sweet.” Roger, you were sweet, and kind and funny and grateful. But most of all, you were a great human. Thank you for being a part of lives! Safe journey, friend!