Eve of Bob’s funeral

The eve of Bobs send of, the clan of diverse friends are gathering. We put into the table our stories, most often the first meeting. Ruth when she was 25, could not box him. Sarah told a story of Bob being flustered, afraid, but he was never afraid she concluded. Yes, says Louise, he was afraid of being alone. Bev, recalled his diversity. Imo the books he recommended, lost on her Kindle in an Asian sea. He kept contact with us all. Not us with him, because of our busy lives, but he with us.

And don’t they always say
‘He should have been there’
To see those who’d walked with him
So many with spoken and unspoken
words, ‘If only i had taken that call,
Come to visit’. Along with amazement
at his rich life, unknown in his life.
We’d watched the slide,
from half an eye, some shaking
his shoulders to rouse him up.
We’d seen it from our distance.
Here we were now.

BLUE OYSTER CULT (Don’t Fear) The Reaper

All our times have come
Here but now they’re gone
Seasons don’t fear the reaper
Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain… we can be like they are
Come on baby… don’t fear the reaper
Baby take my hand… don’t fear the reaper
We’ll be able to fly… don’t fear the reaper
Baby I’m your man…

La la la la la / La la la la la

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