Joan Weeks

In Memoriam — Robby Parkhurst

Joan Weeks

2

One moment, all is well, and then, it isn’t. Robby, dear, dear Robby; the kind, sweet man who was everyone’s friend but when you interacted with him, you felt he was your very own special friend and, in those fleeting moments, he was. Nine years have flown by since I first started to live in the “apartments.” In the beginning, I was at the gift shop a lot. There was a time when I would work on my writing in there. “Let me help you.” Or “Would you like a latte?” And “Could I get you a cookie with that…or a donut?” The twinkly eyes…Robby was the consummate salesman, but he never, ever was overbearing. On a recent afternoon, I went in looking for a thank you card. “How about this one, Joanie? It’s nice.” And he would point out some fine detail. I had my eye on two cards as possibilities. “Oh, Joanie, look at this one—the rich, deep yellow. What do you think?” “Ah, yes, that’s it!” I said. And he’d smile, “Is there anything else?” “No.” And very soon, he’d have my change and the card in a bag, and, as I was leaving, I’d hear, “So good to see you…come back again soon!” And he loved to talk about Hunter, his beloved grandson. His face lit up when he spoke of Hunter and if you would encourage it, he would tell you all about the latest news and whereabouts of Hunter.

Robby is not gone…no really; however, he is in a different place. The always warm man he was lives on forever in the memories of all who loved him and found whatever they needed in his shop, whether it was an item he helped to pick out, or simply, his special brand of hospitality.

24 THE BEACON | Summer/Fall 2018 | Volume 1, Issue 3