I didn't sleep very well. At 6:20pm last night, my sister called me from France.
She told me Rob had died. He was 27. That post I was going to write. Those CDs I was going to buy. The dinner I was halfway cooking. All became instantly redundant.
I'd actually thought about him on New Year's Eve and how I hadn't spoken to him in ages. How I wanted to add him to the email list I send stuff out to. I was going to wait until my sister got back from holiday to get his email address...
I remember the last time I saw him was at my sister's birthday a couple of years ago (2001, I think). My sister had booked a room in a club, and there were lots of her friends there. I only knew her ex-boyfriend and her flatmate. Conversations were somewhat strained.
Rob arrived with his girlfriend and pretty soon came over to talk to me. His girlfriend wandered off and Rob sat down and we started talking. I was suddenly reminded of a conversation we'd had years earlier in my study, at school. He sat there for hours listening to me go on about comics, asking me questions about the plots and characters. He showed real interest, and made me feel good about knowing every little detail about the X-Men.
I can't remember exactly what we talked about that night in the club. I do remember that he sat there for most of the evening talking to me. I do remember him encouraging me to take off round the world. I believe a quality of a good person is that they can make others feel comfortable and good about themselves. Rob did this effortlessly.
He was one of those people who fitted into all the cliques. He got on with everyone. More accurately, he was liked by everyone. He'd smile and your day would be instantly better. If you have friends like this, cherish and nurture your friendship. If 2003 has taught me anything, it's that life is too short.