My friend, Paul Robbins, passed away this past weekend. The Saturday morning before Easter, I received a text from his daughter, Jen. A simple, thoughtful,
“Good morning. Dad has passed. We are taking our time contacting anyone in an official way. But thought you would appreciate knowing, thank you for being a great friend for Dad.”
My wife and I had been over there, sitting with Paul and his wife, Jeanne, the evening before. Paul had been in hospice for a little more than a month. He passed while in his home with his family in the early morning.
Paul, I am going to miss you.
When I started Positive News For You, Paul would talk to me about it. A lot. This piece is about people who don’t sit on the sidelines but change the world.
Paul and I met in a church fellowship. I can tell you when, where, and what was said. I liked Paul, and I decided to be his friend. (It is hard to talk about being intentional and not do it.) He was a little “prickly,” and I learned in my life that people (I was one of those people myself) like that need to laugh more. My heart was to help him laugh.
Paul was a Vietnam vet. A Marine. An avid sportsman, he was a professional archer and hunter, as well as an ardent detectorist. (Metal detecting)
We became fast friends.
One time, I asked him and Jeanne if they were going to get together. They moved their chairs apart in surprise, and he “explained” their connection was that their children were married to one another. Sure… Not long after, I was invited to perform at their wedding.
Over the years, we had some interesting conversations. We began with the easy ones. Politics-yep, that was fun. 😊 War and conflict. Guns. Metal detecting. (I showed him my 40-year-old White detector) But over time, it became more about family and spirituality. We were both born in Connecticut, less than a half hour apart. Another source of friendship. As our friendship grew our discussions became deeper.
At the time, we attended the same church gathering, and one day he asked me, “Why do I stand by the door?” I told him. He started to take my place.
He wanted to learn. To participate. Paul’s life was in service. He loved serving. We would serve together in different ways. We laughed. We joked. And we prayed about our concerns for our families and our friends. And I learned a lot from him. I appreciated when he would speak truth and life.
Wednesdays were our day together. Each week, we would meet for coffee, spending hours together. This week as I sat in the coffee shop we met in, there was an emptiness. But, I could hear his laughter in the air.
The last week has been difficult for many. I am one of them. Paul was my friend, and I am going to miss him. I am not sure how a 60s hippie and 60s Vietnam vet became such good friends, but I think that is the grace of God that was extended to both of us. Or how we became passionate about so many of the same things. One of the biggest things we began to talk about early on was “love never fails.” In the beginning, I think Paul would agree, it was a foreign concept. But the more time we spent together, I would joke with him that he was coming over to the dark side.
Paul loved people. He sure loved his family. His wife, Jeanne. And he loved people and wanted to help them. Often, behind the scenes, he was just there.
Paul, every day I miss you. I will honor my pledge to you that we made in a hospital room just a few months ago. I love you, my friend! Thank you for being a friend.
Love never fails!
