This is becoming a Facebook ritual in the last few years. You don't see any posts from a friend in some time. Perhaps you knew he or she had been fighting an illness but they posted images of their fight against cancer (in most cases). And you expected that they would beat it this time, as they had before this latest bout.
But then the posts stop. For several weeks in some cases. You don't think about it at first. There have always been gaps in the past. But then one day you realize that it has been quite some time and you really begin to worry. But you are also really afraid to ask for fear of being a jerk.
I thought about Rob a few days ago and voiced my concern to myself. And then, just an hour or so later, his sister posted that he had gotten his wings and was soaring with the angels and your heart skips a beat and that overwhelming sadness overcomes your very soul.
Most of the photos above with Rob in the maroon, sleeveless sweat shirt, were from his and his BF in yellow jacket and friend in the gray T-shirt (Rick Steen). They visited my place in Colorado Springs in 1985. We drove to Garden of the Gods and to the Air Force Academy. And to a lovely canyon near the Springs that was still covered with snow and a cold, running stream nearby. I always had the hots for Rob's friend, Rick Steen. Great chest. The last time Rob and I spoke when I forwarded these pics and the others from that visit, Rob said Rick was just as hunky but totally bald.
Over recent years that I have been on Facebook, I lost Anita Kocourek, who created the cover images for most of my RAoF books. A classmate from years ago, Ken Braun, died a few months back. And also Kent Thomas, who often shared the HOA board leadership with me at Franklin Park Condo Association from the early 2000's until close to 2016 when I moved from Denver. (I heard that he sold his unit in 2017.) He helped get the HOA solvent and organized, with clearly stated rules and regs. He was a good soul. I only have a couple of images of him, even after all those years of knowing him and working with him:
He died a year ago of cancer. And, like Rob, was also from Oklahoma. He was likely only in his early 50's.
You know someone so well for so many years and then they are gone. Forever. And we are left to morn.
