I began the task of thinning out Rob's music collection this weekend. I got through the cassette tapes (remember those?) and was pleased that the Webdells actually wanted some of them.  I chuckled at the wacky bands, like Lips and the Trips, featuring an old high school friend, and teared at more familiar ones that hold such fond memories...driving to Galveston with Michael Jackson's Bad and Thriller blaring, chaperoning a birthday sock hop filled with 50's classics and giggling girls, drifting off to sleep to a host of jazz artists.  CD's and vinyls will have to wait for another emotional day.
When I think of Rob, I naturally think of music.  It was just part of his fiber. When we first moved to Houston, living in a Westheimer apartment, our cheap dates often included dessert at House of Pies and a trip to Sound Warehouse where Rob would study the back covers of records for at least a couple of hours. That "homework" proved profitable as many a friend would phone Rob to pick his brain on back-up musicians and release dates. Age never being a deterrent, he often quizzed his kids, nieces and young employees on new artists and with great pleasure, often stumped them! 
Near the end of his illness, Bobby and I found a way to get him to two last concerts. 

 Dawes

Dave and Jess Ray

Both nights took everything out of Rob (and us) and he faced serious setbacks in the days after, but during the concerts, Rob was young again and momentarily free of the world of cancer and uncontrolled pain.

I can't imagine his playlist in Heaven, but I know he is amazed by the beauty of singing angels.  I wonder if Rob is listening to David strum his harp or an even grander instrument.  Is Rob playing the piano for his King?

 Music plays on and Rob couldn't be happier.