A Lament for Bob A.
There are friendships that arrive quietly and then remain for a lifetime. Bob was one of those.
There are friendships that arrive quietly and then remain for a lifetime. Bob was one of those.
He came into my life many years ago at a time when I was still finding my footing in the world—still learning how to live without destroying myself. June 1986. At the time, I had recently stopped drinking and using drugs.
My life was very unsteady, and I was beginning to find my way back to something honest and whole through deep trauma patterns and early recovery.
Around that same time I joined a small trauma group for Vietnam veterans. I was not a veteran myself. But somehow, for reasons that still feel mysterious to me, I was welcomed into that circle.
And from the very beginning he received me as I was, as did they all. Not the finished version of me. Not the healed version. Simply the man who stood before him that day.
Through the years that followed we shared stories, laughter, long conversations, and moments of deep honesty that often unfolded by candlelight at our weekly trauma recovery group meetings.
Bob carried within him the gravity of the life he had lived—the war, the memories, the things that never quite leave a man. Yet there was also a warmth in him, and a laugh that held both joy and sorrow at the same time.
He did not suffer fools gladly. But he knew how to recognize sincerity. And somehow, through all the seasons of my life— through the ups and the downs, the confusions and the clarities, he never withdrew that simple gift of acceptance.
He saw me. And in being seen that way, something in me was strengthened. A friendship like that is difficult to explain. It does not live in words very easily.
It lives in the quiet field between two people—in trust, in presence, in the simple knowing that someone is walking beside you on the road.
Bob left his body a few days ago. But the strange and beautiful truth is this: nothing essential feels lost. Love does not disappear when a body stops breathing.
Where could it go?
The bond we shared was not made of time alone. It was made of recognition. And recognition does not die. So tonight I simply offer gratitude.
Thank you, Bob, for your strength, for your honesty, for your fierce and quiet heart. Thank you for standing beside me for all these years.
May the road open before you, my friend. May the great silence receive you gently.
And may the love that lived between us continue to move through this world long after both of us are gone. Nigel.
