Funeral for my friend

Colin Robb Dec. 6, 1963-Sept. 21, 2014

I'm saying goodbye today to my friend. My best friend. And the strongest man I ever knew.

I think the hardest thing for Colin during his suffering from that bastard cancer was not the pain he felt - and it did hurt - but instead, the feeling of helplessness.

His whole life was about action. If something needed doing, it got done. From fixing a leak or Anne's tires, keeping his apartment spotlessly clean or reminding his co-workers to watch their p's and q's if they knew what's good for them, Colin Robb was not about to sit around and let life come to him.

And that is why the past few months have been so hard. To Colin, not being able to make things better for himself, for Anne, for Alex, for Tiffany, hell, even for me, was a sign of weakness. And he hated that.

So he suffered.

Before his diagnosis he rarely suffered, be it fools lightly or life in general. Sometimes there was some moaning the morning after a big bender, but even then he usually made miraculous recoveries. He bitched a bit, but suffer? Not our Colin.

My friend always stood tall, even though he stood 5 foot 6 on a good day. I remember one occasion when he was getting into a heated, nose-to-nose ... discussion with a co-worker. His opponent, who was doing his best to soothe the savage beast in front of him, was a bit over six feet and towered over Colin.

Colin didn't care. Big guys never bothered him. He was bigger than all of 'em.

That moment, by the way, was the first time I noticed Colin was short. Seriously. Until then, because of the way he carried himself,  I just assumed he was  taller than me, at the least.

But that's how he was. Big. And he did things big as well

His drinking exploits were legendary, though oddly enough, in all the years I knew him I never once got drunk with him. That may have been wise.

But I sure enabled him. I can't count the times I'd buy him an 18-pack of beer or a 26-er of rye when I was doing my Pizza Dude thing in the evenings, only to get a call from Colin at nine or so - sounding the exact same level of intoxication as he did at 4 - pleading with me to get him another six-pack or another mickey.

And I usually did.

But I'm not here to speak glowingly about alcohol. I write a beer blog. And I often praise beer, glorifying it even.

But this is not one of those stories, because all that drinking did come back to bite him, and while I think genetics played a larger role in him getting the bastard cancer, his alcoholism didn't help.

But even in the face of that formidable opponent Colin showed strength. A dedicated Dad, he never touched a drop on those weekends when Alex was with him, at least in the years I knew him.

And when Colin was diagnosed nearly a year ago, he immediately stopped drinking and never touched another drop.

I think he really wanted to slay that demon so he could concentrate on fighting his toughest battle yet, one that he fought valiantly until Sunday morning, when it took his life.

Colin Robb was starting to make positive changes in his life when he got sick. He was going to get his licence back. He was going to buy himself a truck. He was going to use his skills - that man could operate any machine - to get a real job. one that paid, so he could take care of his family.

And then this.
.
It seems this family was just here, in this very funeral home, to bury brother Doug, also taken far too soon by that bastard cancer. And now we are all here once again to say goodbye.

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Anne, you have been strong for so many months now. You need to stay strong for Tiffany.

Susan. Alex needs you more than ever now.

Alex. buddy. I'm so glad so many of your friends are here to support you. The Robb legacy rests on your shoulders, Champ  And if you ever need to talk, you know where to find me.

Sandra, You need to be strong as well because you are the glue that holds this family together. You've got Murph, Justin and Kyle to help you.

And to Colin, my friend, There will be a truck waiting for you up there, one of those early 70s models you loved so much. I'll be there soon enough, so make sure it's all gassed up and ready so we can go for a cruise.

I like the Maple Leafs boxing gloves touch. That's so you. A fighter 'till the end.

I'm happy that your suffering is over. I'm going to miss you buddy.

Rest in Peace Colin.