for you.
I know everyone called you Reggie, but to me, you'll always be Ro-bear. For how you were and for how being around you felt. When I say "bear", of course, I mean teddy bear. And not just because you were a big softie: always sentimental and absolutely loved reminiscing. But because your presence brought comfort. Because snuggling with you was the best. Because your absence is harshly felt. When I started calling you Ro-bear when we first met in 1998, it didn't occur to me how perfect it was.
When I drove my shitbox Mercury Marquis to Homer, NY to meet you, the rest of Split Second and your dad, I was still a really crappy driver. I'm pretty sure I drove over a curb or something, my nerves on high. I can only imagine Bob appreciated following behind 18-year-old Alissa in the car. Shawna and I had a lot going on that weekend with Hoodfest and throw on top of that meeting a bunch of people we had only spoken to online, I was definitely nervous. When we pulled up to meet you guys, you bounded out of the car to come over and say hi. We immediately felt at ease with you, that was just your way. For me, that is quintessential Rob: naturally going that extra mile to make everyone feel included, to make everyone feel like they belong. That's a rare quality.
Being with you in a large group was fun, wild, hilarious. Being with you one-on-one was special and often wonderfully introspective. And sleeping in your leopard print palace in the basement in Havertown was never boring. The trick of course, was to fall asleep before you fell asleep and initiated the jet engine noise your face made.
It's easy to only see fun and loving Rob as someone that came to visit from out-of-state. I know I didn't see day-to-day Rob and I know that it's unfair to ignore the struggles you went through and of course, the frustration your family and close friends must have felt. I'm having this one-sided conversation with you for a reason and that reason absolutely blows. So many of us struggle internally and never feel safe enough or good enough to move past it or help ourselves out of that space. People are there, reaching for you, but you can't figure out a way to reach back. And to think about you this way, Rob... it really tears me apart. It's not my place to make judgments or feel that I had the kind of understanding that your family has about what got us here; I know I didn't know exactly what you were dealing with. I just know that however we got to this horribly final point, I'm sorry we couldn't save you. I'm sorry you couldn't save yourself.
A quirk (flaw?) of my personality is feeling very uncomfortable inviting myself somewhere unless invited; very rarely initiating conversation, instead waiting for others to contact me; most importantly, never burdening others with my presence. I never felt that way with you. It is not in my DNA to just show up to someone's house on a whim, especially if they live in another state but I did it with you (sorry and thank you, Bob and Chris). I can only thank you for that gift, Rob. To feel that immediate ease with someone is priceless. And for someone like me, that is a rare freedom.
One of Shawna's and my favorite memories of you comes after an exhausting day of recording in the studio, Barlow-Barlow-Barlow-Hoban shouting and of course, hearing that same damn song 75 times in a row before you got it right. We were all so tired and hungry and excited to get back to your house. You were driving the big green Barlow van (BTW0234) in the dark and the pouring rain while everyone else slept. I was in the way back, silently listening to you sing along with Aerosmith's 'I Don't Want To Miss A Thing' with a huge smile on my face and in my heart. You didn't realize anyone heard you and we all had a big laugh about it after. And months later. And years later. You loved to tell old stories about good times and I wonder now if that was a way of coping for you. Struggling to look forward and longing for the past. I can understand how that is. It's not easy to say goodbye, Ro-bear.
When I drove my shitbox Mercury Marquis to Homer, NY to meet you, the rest of Split Second and your dad, I was still a really crappy driver. I'm pretty sure I drove over a curb or something, my nerves on high. I can only imagine Bob appreciated following behind 18-year-old Alissa in the car. Shawna and I had a lot going on that weekend with Hoodfest and throw on top of that meeting a bunch of people we had only spoken to online, I was definitely nervous. When we pulled up to meet you guys, you bounded out of the car to come over and say hi. We immediately felt at ease with you, that was just your way. For me, that is quintessential Rob: naturally going that extra mile to make everyone feel included, to make everyone feel like they belong. That's a rare quality.
Being with you in a large group was fun, wild, hilarious. Being with you one-on-one was special and often wonderfully introspective. And sleeping in your leopard print palace in the basement in Havertown was never boring. The trick of course, was to fall asleep before you fell asleep and initiated the jet engine noise your face made.
It's easy to only see fun and loving Rob as someone that came to visit from out-of-state. I know I didn't see day-to-day Rob and I know that it's unfair to ignore the struggles you went through and of course, the frustration your family and close friends must have felt. I'm having this one-sided conversation with you for a reason and that reason absolutely blows. So many of us struggle internally and never feel safe enough or good enough to move past it or help ourselves out of that space. People are there, reaching for you, but you can't figure out a way to reach back. And to think about you this way, Rob... it really tears me apart. It's not my place to make judgments or feel that I had the kind of understanding that your family has about what got us here; I know I didn't know exactly what you were dealing with. I just know that however we got to this horribly final point, I'm sorry we couldn't save you. I'm sorry you couldn't save yourself.
A quirk (flaw?) of my personality is feeling very uncomfortable inviting myself somewhere unless invited; very rarely initiating conversation, instead waiting for others to contact me; most importantly, never burdening others with my presence. I never felt that way with you. It is not in my DNA to just show up to someone's house on a whim, especially if they live in another state but I did it with you (sorry and thank you, Bob and Chris). I can only thank you for that gift, Rob. To feel that immediate ease with someone is priceless. And for someone like me, that is a rare freedom.
One of Shawna's and my favorite memories of you comes after an exhausting day of recording in the studio, Barlow-Barlow-Barlow-Hoban shouting and of course, hearing that same damn song 75 times in a row before you got it right. We were all so tired and hungry and excited to get back to your house. You were driving the big green Barlow van (BTW0234) in the dark and the pouring rain while everyone else slept. I was in the way back, silently listening to you sing along with Aerosmith's 'I Don't Want To Miss A Thing' with a huge smile on my face and in my heart. You didn't realize anyone heard you and we all had a big laugh about it after. And months later. And years later. You loved to tell old stories about good times and I wonder now if that was a way of coping for you. Struggling to look forward and longing for the past. I can understand how that is. It's not easy to say goodbye, Ro-bear.