Rob’s been gone for three years today. It doesn’t seem possible. There are times when I still hear his voice or I think I see him somewhere.
Some people are timeless, dimensionless. I think he’ll always straddle here and beyond, knowing it both frustrates and delights those he visits.
Memories of him are vivid (even without blog archives). I can hear the laughter he and Quinton shared as they “wrassled” on the couch and waged wet willy wars. I can remember, too, the heartbreak when Rob was denied his son. Sometimes you just don’t get over something like that. I hope somehow, some way, he’s at peace and watching over his boy with pride. And I hope that he’s keeping everyone busy up there, chasing the cute “wimmen” angels and singing his songs. I know I still hear the music.
I can’t help but chase a tear or two at moments like this.
Southern drawl teases
Who’s your cracker now, darlin’?
Time to pick ‘n’ grin
I miss you, Rob. You were a one in a million friend.
My Door Is Always Open – by Rob Smith