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|Robert Patrick Devitt, Jr.
Date of Birth: December 28, 1964
Position: Director of Purchasing/Project Manager
This tribute is for my dearest and closest friend, Bob. We met 12 years ago at Kutztown University in Pennsylvania. I was immediately attracted to his off-the-wall humor and eccentric ways. We started dating in 1992 and lived together since 1998. The last nine years of my life were always interesting with Bob by my side. No doubt about it, he was the biggest and most wonderful part of my world. I would have been proud to call him my husband one day.
Bob was a colorful character who is remembered the most for his sense of adventure. Here was a 36 year-old guy who had the excitement level of a 12 year-old child. His zest for living was contagious.
Bob’s many life adventures included kayaking, scuba diving, riding motorcycles, and skydiving. In his earlier years he played basketball and rugby, ran track, and pole-vaulted. He was known for staring fear in the face and tackling it. He lived to explore new experiences and push himself and others beyond any set limits.
When I think of what I miss the most about Bob, I think of many things. His screaming laughter, great stories, tremendous cooking, powerful golf swing, stimulating conversations, and protective ways rank in the top ten. But what I miss more than anything, oddly enough, is his hands. Why? Because his hands told his stories, mixed love into his cooking, gripped his golf club, illustrated the point of his conversation, and held me in times of need. From laying block, fixing cars, and building bookcases to holding hands, tickling my sides, or brushing stray hairs from my face—his hands could do it all. They spoke volumes that, though I will never hear again, I will remember for the rest of my life.
The following is a poem I wrote for Bob in his memory:
At places roaring with exhilarating rapids,
At others, soothing and serene.
But mostly rushing along—
Nourishing the life that surrounded it,
Only ever asking in return to be left free—
And being so, able to continue giving
Inspiring those who admired you with your strength and beauty.
Now, my love, your bustling river has stopped running,
Leaving behind a winding path that,
Though too short,
In its time ran deeply.
It’s in that path that I’ll find your undying spirit,
Above all else, your zest for living that stayed with you
Until the last drop of your river flowed.
So what becomes of your river now, my love?
For me, it is the image of radiant sunshine
Playing off your every ripple and wave
That will stay with me always.
And while you might be gone,
You are still with me
In the place where your wild river always was,
And always will be—
That short, wild river,
Deeply etched into the landscape of my heart—
By Nicole LeMaster