I’m trying to find the right words to honor my best friend, Rob. And honestly… I’m not sure words were ever big enough for him. We had the kind of friendship that was built on laughing way too hard at things no one else understood, finishing each other’s sentences, and driving our wives absolutely insane. Which — let’s be honest — was one of our greatest joys. It was messy, hilarious, loyal to the core, and built on the rule that no idea was ever too ridiculous for him to say, “What the hell, let’s give it a try.”

And I tested that rule. Often.
Rob grew up in New Jersey, I grew up in New York, and somehow we didn’t meet until we were two grown men living in New Hampshire. Maybe it’s for the best — if we had met any earlier, half the Tri-State Area might’ve issued restraining orders. But from the moment we did meet, something clicked. He was the friend I didn’t even know I needed — the brother I got to choose.
He was also a big guy. Over six feet. Built like a former linebacker. And I’m… well… I’m 5’7” if I stand up straight and think confident thoughts.
Whenever I picked him up, I would very deliberately move the passenger seat all the way forward and crank it up as high as it would go so his head would stick halfway out the sunroof. Every single time, he’d shake his head, fold himself in half like a travel-size giant, and say, “Let’s go.” No annoyance. No complaint. Just Rob being Rob — rolling with the nonsense because that’s what friends do.

And that was our whole friendship: he’d sigh, shake his head… and then get in the car anyway.
Like the time I may have forgotten that my son needed to move back into his dorm in New Hampshire while I was in California. Who did I call? Rob. And because he was the best, he just said, “Yeah, sure,” as if people called him every day to move their children into their college dorm.
Or the time at dinner after his own vow renewal when someone congratulated us on being a “cute couple.” Rob just shrugged reached across and took my hand and said, “Well, it’s not the worst thing we’ve been accused of.”

Then there were the costumes.
One night, he and Becky came to pick us up for dinner and I was standing in the yard dressed as a T-Rex. Full costume. No explanation. Rob jumped out of the car and chased me around the yard. two 50+ year old men running around the front yard laughing. Becky, his wife, said, “Ok boys. time to go. What are you, 8?” Rob just rolled with it and said, “You riding like that, or are you changing?”
Another time they got home from vacation and found me in their front yard dressed as a lawn jockey. He didn’t even ask why. He just muttered, “I really need new friends,” and then laughed until he couldn’t breathe.
I have enough stories to fill a book — but maybe the mystery is better. Maybe the best way to honor him is knowing that everyone has their own version of Rob… and every version is warm, loyal, and filled with laughter.
He taught me how to fly fish. And I will never forgive him for that. He taught me how to relax and laugh at the world. And for that- I’ll always love him.
Last Saturday was his birthday. Our final texts say everything:
Me: “HAPPY BIRTHDAY! YOU ARE THE MOST AMAZING PERSON I KNOW.”
Rob: “Thanks! You must know a lot of dorks!”
Me: “Yeah — but you’re still the best of them.”
Rob: “Thanks? I love you.”
Me: “We deserve each other. Love you too”
Rob: “We must have been evil in a past life.”
That was us. Silly, loving, ridiculous in all the right ways.
Saying goodbye to him at the hospital was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. We had plans. So many plans. And losing him has left a hole I don’t know how to fill.
I will miss him more than words can describe. I will never laugh as hard as I laughed with him — and honestly, I don’t want to. That kind of laughter belongs to Rob.

I love you, buddy. Thank you for being the friend I didn’t know I needed, the one who said “yes” to everything, the one who never hesitated to climb into a too-small car seat with his head sticking out the sunroof.
We must have been evil in a past life — because this life, with you in it, was pretty damn wonderful.














