No one is gone when they were larger than life

 So last weekend we finally had Robby’s memorial to mark the year since he passed away. We met up at one of Robby’s favorite spots in town—super fun/tiki atmosphere, music playing, lots of cold Coronas. It was great to see family and old friends and to hear stories about Robby. Some were funny, some made me cry. But all were great. And I think the overall message from everyone was “he can’t just be gone.” I guess you can take that sentiment to mean several things—he can’t be gone spiritually, he can’t be gone from our memories, he can't be gone because traces of him will always be here with us. Traces like the 100 Hawaiian shirts and Star Wars T-shirts in boxes in my garage. I mean the guy was larger than life in so many ways, so he can't be gone, right? 

I didn’t get up to speak at the memorial, other than to welcome everyone. Roni got up and talked—which surprised me. She did great, too. She called out some of Robby’s friends so I know he would have been proud. Teachers that worked with Robby talked about the way he took time for his students, old friends told funny stories of their adventures in college, a few young men even got up and talked about how much Robby meant to them as a father figure. Robby’s sister finished it out with a really wonderful tribute to her brother, about how he always protected her. She, of course, totally nailed it.

I thought about getting up to tell a funny story about Robby, but I knew it would be a mistake and, on that day, I needed to keep it together for my kids. So, I’ll tell my Robby story now.

I don’t remember the year exactly, it must have been either 2013 or 2014, but we were married and had spent several holidays together, so we had our routines down. It was Thanksgiving and for the first time ever, the kids were going to spend the holiday with their bio-dad. I was devastated. I’d never spent a holiday away from them. They left Wednesday and weren’t coming back until Sunday.

Now, if you know Robby, you know how much he loves Thanksgiving. He starts meal planning once the leaves start to hit the ground in September. We usually start the day with these breakfast rounds I make and watch the parade. He usually brines the turkey in a cooler for a few days and he gets so excited stuffing that thing and getting it into the oven. As the smells start wafting into the living room while we watch the parade, he gets even more excited, usually tears up a bit, and thanks me to loving Thanksgiving as much as he does. True to Robby, we had a house full of guests expected that year because he invites everyone. We thought about canceling since the kids would be gone, but decided it would be even worse to be totally alone that day.

I really tried hard that morning to put on a brave face, but everything reminded me of the kids and I was just so sad. I watched the parade with tears in my eyes all morning and then finally got up off the couch to go to the kitchen to start getting things ready. Robby was in there in his Thanksgiving uniform he always wore—his Darth Vader apron and his giant, soft turkey hat. We were side by side at the counter cooking, he was chattering on about something. Then he says, “I need to go grab something and I’ll be right back.” I kind of nodded and just kept doing whatever it was I was doing—I think I was making the pies. A few minutes later he walks back in and stands next to me again and turns on the mixer to start mashing his sweet potatoes. I finally realize he is quiet—he hasn't said a word since he came back in the kitchen--which makes my Spidey senses kick in. I look over at him standing next to me and a flash of white catches my eye. I take a step back from the counter and realize he is completely naked except for his Darth Vader apron and that damn turkey hat. I stood there looking at him as he is acting like nothing in the world is different or wrong—he’s just mixing his potatoes. I immediately lay my head on the counter and start laughing so hard. He can’t see my face so he doesn’t know if I’m laughing or crying. “Kim?” he said in a concerned voice. “Kim? Please talk to me. Are you laughing or crying?” I finally catch my breath and stand up and look at him. I can’t quit laughing. He finally lets out one of his signature belly laughs and we stand there and laugh for at least two minutes, barely able to stand. Once I can talk, I said, “What in the world were you thinking?” He said, “I couldn’t stand to see you so sad. It was killing me. I knew I had to do something, and this was the only thing I could think of, and I knew that it would either work or I’d need to break out the whiskey until everyone shows up. Speaking of which, I’m going to go put on pants before David Westbrook and Steve Freenor see my white ass poking out of this apron and I never hear the end of that.”

We ended up having a pretty great Thanksgiving that day. I didn’t cry again for the rest of the day. Our house was filled with our friends and we spent the day laughing and sharing stories. Every time I looked  at Robby, he would smile real big and I we’d giggle a little at our secret. At the end of the day we were cleaning up from the big dinner and I stopped and hugged him and said, “Thank you so much for today. I honestly could not have made it through without you. I still can’t believe you did that but I’m so glad you did.” He held me a little longer and said, “Of course, darling. You’re my wife and I made a promise on our wedding day to make you and the kids happy, every day.”

That little stunt of his gave us a good chuckle every Thanksgiving. He would be standing in the kitchen cooking, and I’d say something like, “Mr. Richardson, it’s nice to see you wearing pants this year.” And he’d say something like, “Don’t start with me, Texas, cause you know I can drop these pants in a moments notice.”

And I guess that’s what it means when we say he can’t just be gone, because he’s not gone. We’ll always have those memories, always have those laughs, always have Robby.