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Robert F. Smith died on April 4, 2004, at Lovelace Medical Center, just one month short of his 73rd birthday, after a brief and valiant struggle with cancer. Until the afternoon of April 3, 2004 he had been cared for at home, where, despite failing health, he still enjoyed reading the Financial Times, following events in the outside world (which for him included faraway lands as well as his own neighborhood), maintaining e-mail correspondence, and gazing out at the imaginative xeriscape garden he had worked on for 13 years. He leaves behind his deeply saddened wife and best friend over the last 47 years, Julia Shirek Smith; and two fine sons, Benjamin Farquharson Smith of Las Vegas, New Mexico, and David Dyk Smith of Albuquerque. The family's cat companion, Simone Bebe, will miss a comfortable lap and a soothing voice. At Robert's request, there are to be no formal services. But do feel free to call, drop by, or e-mail Julia to cry a little and share memories. Please, no flowers: instead, contributions may be made to the John Kerry presidential campaign or to Doctors Without Borders. Robert's loved ones will scatter his ashes on the family's favorite Sandia hiking trail later this spring. I will arise and go now, and go to Inisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made: Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade. And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings; There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings. I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey, I hear it in the deep heart's core.
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