Below you will find a "memory" from sister Suzanne that was read at the funeral. "Bob" is so proud of his little sister. "Bob" is proud of all of his siblings.Many of you knew Robert McGehee, the teacher, artist, colleague, and friend, but the family knew Bob, the happy, cheerful, enthusiastic, eternally optimistic, patient, creative, loving, devoted: son, brother, nephew, uncle, cousin, partner with the slightly bizarre sense of humor. His unmistakable laugh, his brilliant smile, his shining green eyes and that radiant light within would light up the room. I know him as my big brother, my friend, my ally, one of the most significant people in my life, part of my heart, and he felt the same about me. He used to tell me how happy he was when they brought me home. He is 7 years older. It was a big day in his life because he also suffered a severely broken arm later that same day, so he couldn’t hold me and that upset him, but he made sure he was holding my hand or touching me in every picture that was taken. He said he wanted to show me everything, teach me everything he already knew. He couldn’t wait to get up in the morning, and put me on the couch with him while I took my bottle so he could show me the cartoons he loved to watch. He didn’t let the neighborhood kids kiss me so he was quite the protector. When he got old enough to drive, he would take me along, again to show me everything, to hear his latest great 8-track and to introduce me to every one he knew. He never thought of me as a kid, never talked down to me or dismissed anything I said. It all mattered to him. He was always proud of me and I was always proud of him. Yes, Bob was sometimes a relentlessly teasing older brother. He was by no means a saint. He made his mistakes, but he learned from them and from the mistakes of others and he grew. Oh yes, there are stories, some we can tell, some I’ll keep to myself as to tell them would cause self incrimination.
Sometimes when he drove, we didn’t always make it to church, so rather than go in late, we went to the coffee shop and talked. Over the years, we must have spent thousands of hours talking, dreaming and planning in coffee shops. We talked about everything. There was nothing we didn’t discuss. As we grew and our hopes and dreams grew we shared them all. We had fun. We laughed. We cried. We were important to each other. In those coffee shops, we figured out our next steps, and we helped each other reach the goals most important to us. We shared apartments, took classes together and he continued to show me the world as we traveled together. He was very rarely discouraged and never for long, but I sometimes was so he walked through it with me. His greatest gift was his ability to listen, to give hope, to encourage, to light the light of life inside again no matter how bleak the situation. He gave comfort, compassion and hope. He made people feel special because he listened, he was present with you, made you feel like whatever you were talking about mattered, was valid and important. I know that any one of you out there that knew him, either casually or personally, felt you had a special relationship with him, and you did because he made you feel special. He was public in his celebration of life, achievements, and joy, but private in his disappointments and discouragement. Many of you met him after he became ill. Bob faced this challenge like he had all of the others in his life, optimistically and with absolute determination to win. From the beginning of this illness until the very end, he was courageous. He fought with absolutely every ounce of his being…body, mind and spirit. He amazed us all. As he had done all of his life, he comforted us. He soothed us, he made it easier for us. He remained his cheerful self most of time and never complained. His grit and shear determination through it all is inspiring to us all. Before his original surgery, very early on in his treatment we had a conversation…in a restaurant just he and I. I asked him how he was with all of this, what was to come, and he told me straight out, he wasn’t looking forward to any of it. He absolutely believed he was going to beat it and would be fine, but if this surgery did not stop it, he assured me he would fight with everything he had. He said he loved his life and where he was in his life, but if he didn’t win and it was his time to go, he said “I am fine with that. I am fine”. He went on to discuss his concern for Mama and for Dave and his regret that he would cause them any pain. So, as I kept saying over and over the night he left, Bob is fine. Today, Bob is fine. Bob is well today. We are sad today, we hurt today, but Bob no longer hurts. Bob is fine.
First and foremost, Bob loved his family. I rarely ever met a friend of Bob’s that had not already heard about me and our family. Time and again people told me how he loved us all. They knew about us, had heard the stories he loved to tell. He made us a priority. Friday night get togethers were a priority. Saturday breakfast and painting with Mama and Billie, and thankfully, most recently me, were sacred to him. He loved teaching, and all forms of art, nature, music, architecture, literature, food, wine and big gatherings and he loved laughter. He loved life and all the possibilities it held. Dave, he was blessed with your total devotion, love and presence every step of this journey. Through the whole illness, we were comforted in knowing you were there.
For our family, there is a giant bright shinning light missing today from this gathering. He’s at that big reunion with the other part of the family and they are celebrating his arrival. We know that light is shining brighter than ever before just beyond our view for now. Bob is with us today, but I know he is anxious to move on to his next goal, see the next wonder, experience all the beauty and enjoy his return to peace. For me the loss of his physical presence is still incomprehensible. He’s been there all of my life, every step, every joy, every sorrow, every time, with no exceptions. I already know that I will miss him all the rest of my days, but Bob will be there to greet me and show me all the wonders he is discovering now as he has done my whole life. That is my comfort today. Bob is fine. Bob is well.
