My cousin, the badass

I’m Amy and I am the one of Chip’s cousins. Our Moms are sisters and, as a family, we’ve always been extremely close. By age, I’m sandwiched between Rachel and Chip.

While the Rohrs did move around a lot, we remained close and we got together at every opportunity. I think back to the summer vacations we all spent at Sunset Beach, North Carolina.  For years, every summer, our two families would rent a beach house together and those weeks were some of the best weeks of my life.

Speaking of the beach… there’s one particular story I’d like to share that involves Chip and his (and my) loathing of chores.

Now, at the beach house, the Moms took care of the food. They pre-planned the meals before our arrival, they shopped at the local Food Lion, they cooked the dinners – and they were NOT going to be on clean-up duty. I get it. Totally fair.

So, with a house full of five kids, we became the clean-up crew. The first year, the Moms let us choose our partners. I paired up with Rachel and Chip, Becky, & Leah were the other team.

When the week was over, the Moms realized that this was a bad idea …… because Chip and I weren’t the hardest of workers. Rach ended up doing all the work on my team and Becky and Leah did all of the work on Chip’s team.

The Moms wised-up the following year (and all subsequent years) and assigned the following clean-up crews: Rachel and Becky, Chip and me, Leah and Uncle Walt (because yes, we have to bring Walt into the mix!)    

The Moms knew they had to put us two boneheads together.

And, looking back, it was a fine idea, but… it took Chip and me FOREVER!

I mean, before we could clean off the dinner table and start on the dishes we needed to set the tone by choosing the right music to do the dishes to, and then we needed to show off our best dance moves to said music…

So, slowly, very slowly, but very groovily, we eventually finished the task.

I think back at these yearly dish-duty memories, and so, so many others, with a smile.

Now, as much as Chip could be a goof-ball (and yes, that was most of the time), he could also be serious. Chip could talk with anyone of any age.  Whether it was his 3-year-old niece or his 93-year old grandfather, Chip had this natural ability to connect with everyone.

The four of us standing up here  (Rachel, Leah, Becky and myself) collectively have 160 years of memories of Chip. We’ve seen it all: the good and the bad, the triumphs and the defeats, the smiles and the tears, and the love --- and there is ALWAYS love.

Now, I’d like to ask each of you to all take a few seconds to think about Chip and the absolute joy he brought to all of our lives.

When I think about my younger cousin, I think about his contagious smile, the glimmer in his eye when he was up to no good, or that infectious giggle. God, that giggle.

Today … my heart is broken and dark, but underneath that – deeper into my being – into my soul – there is a warmth that grows when I think about Chip.

That warmth WILL take over and WILL endure forever as we all continue to share the positive impact he had over all of us. It’s now our task to keep alive that Chipper magic.

One of Chip’s last wishes was to have the four of us up here together to speak. I am beyond honored that we could fulfill his wish.

I love you, Chip.

Baby Brothers, Barbies, Bikes & Bullies

This is Rachel's Eulogy for Chip

Thank you all for being here today.  I am Rachel, Chip’s older sister.  Chip was born 5 days before my 4th birthday when we lived in Heidelberg, Germany.  I remember the day he came home from the hospital.  It was like getting a really cool birthday present, but I’m not going to lie and say I was 100% excited about getting a baby brother.  I was mostly excited, but I had been the star of the show up until this point so some adjustments were necessary on my part.  

I did take my job as his big sister very seriously, though.  I loved to have someone to play with, to protect, to take care of, and most of all, to boss around.  Chip was an easy going and fun-loving kid, and he let me boss him around a lot, because he had this uncanny ability to let things just roll off his back.  He usually wasn't the biggest guy in the room, but I guarantee he was the guy with the kindest, biggest heart.  He had a wide open personality that invited people in for a bear hug, figuratively.  And sometimes literally, whether you liked it or not.  He was also a typical pesky little brother who gave me fits sometimes.  We have amazing, wonderful parents and our baby sister, Leah, came along in 1980 and we adored her.

Our dad was in the Army, so we moved a lot.  I mean A LOT.  Many of you are Air Force people, and you have to move what? Every 4 years?  That’s cute.  For a period of time, the Army moved the Rohr family every year.  At Christmas.  Chip went to 5 different elementary schools, I went to 6 and Leah went to 3.  At each new place we always had each other, though.  We played like we were best friends and fought like normal siblings do.  Chip and I played with our Fisher Price jeep and canoe camping set in the creek next to our apartment in Georgia.  We played with our Star Wars figures and we played Barbies.  We played in the snow in New Jersey.  We rode our bikes in the field across from our house in Maryland.  We moved back to Germany and then on to El Paso, Texas, and after that, Virginia Beach.   We always went home to Pennsylvania for holidays with cousins, grandparents, and aunts and uncles.  These moves shaped us and bonded us together and I don’t think any of us would have traded that life for anything.

One time in New Jersey when Chip was preschool age, two of the heads, just the heads, from my Barbie dolls mysteriously went missing.  I couldn’t find them anywhere, but I held onto those headless Barbie bodies hoping that the heads would turn up.  Eventually, mom made me throw them out, because broken toys do not make the cut when you are packing for your next move.  About a week later, after the trash had already gone out and been collected, Mom was going through toys in Chip’s room. Chip must have known the jig was up, because he very sheepishly produced both of the missing Barbie heads.  I’m not sure where he was hiding them or why, but I guess this is when he developed his thing for beautiful blondes.  I was so mad at him, but his ability to make me laugh meant that I couldn’t stay mad at him for any length of time. 

We all know Chip loved to have fun and, often he was the fun.  If something wasn’t fun, Chip brought the fun. Growing up, his love for fun and mischief sometimes got him in trouble, with mom and dad at home, or with kids on the playground.  I’m not sure what Chip did, but a couple of times he ticked off older, bigger kids in the neighborhood.  Whatever he did, I’m sure it was funny.  He told me that Steve Terhune or Ricky Grossclose (actual names of bullies by the way) were picking on him.  No one was allowed to mess with my little brother.  Except me, of course.  I would then have to hunt the bully down, smack him, and yell at him to stop messing with my little brother. All in a day’s work when you're the oldest sibling. Naturally, as Chip got older he needed me less and less for this and he began to do this for Leah.   When he was diagnosed with cancer it took me back to being that 10 year old kid ready to go toe-to-toe with anyone, or anything, to protect my little brother.  I wished it was as simple as slapping a bully away from him.  Unfortunately, cancer doesn’t work that way. 

Chip lived four and a half years with a devastating diagnosis.  I think his ability to always look for the humor, seek out the fun, and let things roll off his back helped him get through this.  The love and support he got from Jenny and the utter joy Avery gave him kept him going.  He always had a twinkle in his eye and I see that same twinkle in Avery’s eye.  I know that he is still with us.  We love you, Chip, and we always will. 

Eulogy for Chip

Rachel’s husband, Dave, and I have a lot in common. We have a number of shared experiences that most don’t have. Mainly we both know how difficult it is to be a new guy in this family. We share this special bond.
Dave and I both know what it’s like to have dinner with the Rohr’s and hear them all talk about Chip for an entire evening. It’s really tough to live up to the amazing Chip Rohr. I want to go on record with saying that I was never impressed with Chip. The way I looked at it, I was much better than him. I’m taller, I’m funnier, I’m better at telling stories, I’m better with impressions, I joined an actual branch of the military not just some social club with airplanes.

I never understood the fascination with him. I just wished for one second that my mother-in-law, my wife, his cousins, my sister-in-law, his nieces, his daughter, his friends, his college classmates, his high school classmates, everyone he met could shut up about how amazing this guy is.  

Over the years as Chip and I grew closer, he only became more annoying.
He was always concerned about how I was doing. He wouldn’t leave it alone, he would call up and just want to talk about football and how his niece was doing. Whenever we hung out he would always bother everyone by making sure we had everything we needed. It was such a pain how he made everyone feel welcome and comfortable. Then he would monopolize all conversations by telling a dumb story that made everyone laugh. He was nothing but trouble. 

When I came home from combat, he would, like a punk, listen to my stories and ask stupid poignant questions about my experiences and he would really listen to what I had to say. 
He always cared. He had the heart of a lion. He was loyal to a fault. He always made sure that people were having a good time. He left this world a better place than he found it. That’s what is really upsetting. There’s no way I can live up to that.

About a year ago, my brother died from colon cancer. So sadly, I have some experience in this.  

As people, we like to come up with sayings that help ease the pain. A lot of times these phrases and sayings help us express the emotion of the situation without having to come up with something on our own. We say these things because it guides us through a time where saying much else would lead to tears. When it comes to dealing with death, we go to these sayings quite frequently. It makes us feel better, and there’s nothing wrong with that. It helps us heal. Examples include:
“He’s in a better place”
“There’s no more suffering”
“He went peacefully”

There are two sayings that I’ve hated when it comes to cancer:
1) “They lost their battle with cancer.”
This makes it seem like there is something to be won. Cancer doesn’t fight like this. Cancer doesn’t care about battles and wins. Cancer is a killer. You don’t win a battle with a murderer. You either survive or you don’t. This phrase also makes it seem like our brothers were defeated by cancer. I disagree. Our brothers were killed by cancer. Even at the very end neither Chip nor my brother were defeated.
2) They passed away.
My brother and Chip were far too young to use this saying. It has always seemed too passive for my taste. It feels like we are trying to hide the reality of the situation. The phrasing never felt real enough for me. It never felt to me that they passed away. It always felt like they were ripped away. They didn’t pass away, they were stolen from us.

And here we are again facing another tragedy. I would be doing Chip a disservice if I didn’t include a little impromptu history lesson here, so here goes...

There was mention of something from the American soldiers who liberated concentration camps during World War II. They talked about the “banality of evil.” There is a point when faced with so much tragedy that it becomes mundane. The soldiers who liberated concentration camps came to a point where the horror became every day, almost routine. To a lesser extent, I faced it myself during my time in combat. There would be an attack, or an IED detonation and one soldier would be killed. It got to a point where your first response was “Oh thank God it was just one person killed.” The tragedy became normal. It was part of your experience.
But that was war. You knew going in that it could be horrible. We chose to face those horrors so others wouldn’t have to. It is the price that we pay to protect others from the madness of war. We carry that with us.

 Today it’s not the same. I have lost my brother and my brother-in-law to something different. Cancer crept into their bodies and wreaked havoc. Both gave cancer a run for its money. I don’t know how they did it, but both died without cancer crushing their spirit. But where does that leave us? What do we do with all of this grief? How are we supposed to keep going with all this tragedy?

What is the lesson that we are supposed to learn?

This last one has been bothering me for a while now. I have lived my life with the assumption that there is something to be learned even from the worst situations. But I honestly don’t know what we are supposed to learn from this.

I can tell you what I do know though: In the darkest times, where it all seems overwhelming, where we can’t help but be filled with rage at these circumstances, where you think that this pain is yours alone.  The good people around us will lift us up. We are never alone in our grief. We are here for each other. Whenever there is tragedy, good people step up and I see that here today.

I know that we have to actively battle despair. It will sneak up on you and drag you down for years if you let it. We must fight every day.

And I know that as long as we keep sharing our memories of those who we’ve lost, they are never truly gone.