Marybelle and Robin

This is a precious letter from Marybelle Hunt to Bill Guest et all. It was in response to his recent email about how much he missed Robin.

Sperry

———————-

Hi Bill,
I just read your email. I can’t hardly talk about Robin with out a huge ache. I love hearing about her. I think of her everyday.

A few days ago I reached for my phone to call her and remembered. Then I thought about calling her number anyway just to hear her voice. I didn’t though.

My girls and I talk about her all the time. Especially when we do girl stuff. We have all taken turns using her Prada bag. She was our fashionista and mentor. She listened to me -always interested.

When I was going through the breast cancer I would email her and Heather. She listened to both of us. She was a huge support. The Bandon trip started out as a way to celebrate our lives after cancer. She and dad planned all of it in about a minute. She was awesome like that. She still is awesome. She had a huge impact on my life. Great role model for the girls and me.

She was so much like Jeana. The way she spoke, held herself. Her grace and wit. She was also one tough cookie when she needed to be. She was never afraid to let you know her view and she did it so eloquently. Jeana was the same. I miss their voices and their cheeks. That beautiful skin.

I remember the first time I cussed in front of her. We had a whole conversation about why the word “fuck” just feels good when you say the letters, regardless of the meaning or intent. Who knew that Robin could cuss like that! ? She was so full of surprises.

Dad says that women are the reason that men are able to be great. Robin was a great woman. Robin also thought you were her great love. Lucky you! You must be an awesome guy.

Thanks for listening.

Lots of love,
Marybelle XO

Angus’ Story About How Dr. Howard Became Dr. Howard

Dr. Alfred Philo Howard circa 1918Robin McCorquodale

Angus’ story:

My mother [Robin Hunt McCorquodale] said there were a few pin hole scars on one of Dal’s fingers.

In his mother’s fingertips

As a child Dal was playing with a meat cleaver.

He cut off one of his fingers, clean off, not a deep gouge, not a partial tear; right through.

Below the nail, bone and all.

Before, one boy; then a boy and fingertip.

Dal’s mother.  That would not do.

… Dal’s mother had decided that Dal was going to be a surgeon.

Don’t ask the child, ask the mother. (Aunt Heather has told me that over and over).

Surgeon – ten intact digits required.

Child, finger, needle, and thread.

Large stiches with thick thread first.

Small stiches with thin thread next.

Following in her fingertips, not her footsteps;

Dal became a surgeon.