I met Rob in the spring of 2007. We were both newly minted members of that special fraternity of Little League Dads – a sacred corps of unpaid ‘helper coaches’ and juice-box-hander-outers.  Together, my new friend and I shared in the time-honored tradition of introducing our little budding ballplayers to this rite of passage. Although not official coaches, ‘Baseball Rob’ and I were there every Tuesday afternoon, coordinating drills, imparting our limited baseball knowledge, and most importantly, creating new and meaningful memories with our sons.

It was here, on this hallowed diamond of grass and dirt, where I came to know and admire this incredible man. Rob was a deeply devoted husband and father of five, a hard-working regional manager, and that rare soul who possessed a brilliant mix of humor, intelligence, and kindness.  Baseball Rob was the kind of guy who made me want to be a better man.

Not long after, another Rob entered my life—'Realtor Rob’. His magnetism was contagious; regardless of what he was doing or who he was talking to, Rob always displayed a preternatural level of charisma and kindness. Like Baseball Rob, Realtor Rob adored his wife and kids, juggled a near-perfect work-life balance, and quickly emerged as someone who deserved to be held in a reverential light.  He was the kind of guy who would – rather randomly – ask me what my favorite song was just so I would be pleasantly surprised the next time I called his cell phone and was greeted with a ringtone of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata.  A small but defining gesture that exemplified the essence of his character.  He too made me want to be a better man.

It was about this time, ‘life’ threw both men knee-buckling curveballs.

The Great Recession was in full swing, and both Robs were at the forefront of this financial unravelling.  The real estate market was in a free-fall and many companies – Baseball Rob’s included, were left with no choice but to downsize.  Both men were feeling the financial stress of this new reality. Realtor Rob would eventually need to short-sale his home and about that same time, deal with his wife’s newly diagnosed Multiple Sclerosis.  Meanwhile, Baseball Rob was doing his best to navigate the choppy waters of his own financial struggles when one night, following his soccer match, he told his wife he wasn’t feeling well. A week later he was diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer – melanoma.

Despite the deluge of bad news, both Robs remained positive and hopeful.  Through every financial setback and emotional hurdle, these two men rose above the quagmire of difficulty that life can dole out.  They continued to radiate a level positivity that was all at once infectious and inspiring.

Over the next three months, I watched my strong, vibrant friend fade into a shell of himself—unable to walk, to hug, to hold. But his spirit, inexplicably, only seemed to grow stronger the more the cancer progressed. Bedridden, barely able to smile, he dug deep and continued to inspire those around him – including me.

Baseball Rob died on a Tuesday morning. The night before he passed, I visited him at his home. I leaned in, kissed his brow, and told him I loved him—I loved him for everything he’d shown me about what it means to be a man; to be a worthy husband, to be an incredible dad, and to be a true friend.  He mustered a smile and whispered through strained vocal cords - “you only get one shot at this existence, Matty; make it count.”

These two Robs—so different, yet so alike—strolled into my life at the same time and left an indelible mark I carry to this day. Amid economic freefall, health scares, and personal loss, they radiated optimism. They reminded me that while life dishes out its fair share of cruelty, there are still unexpected flickers of grace—if you’re willing to find them, see them, let them in, and let them become the prevailing focus.

I’m not here to peddle some saccharine version of hope and perseverance. Life is hard. People lose homes. Marriages are strained. Bodies break down. Bad stuff abounds. 

But the Robs taught me something about this life and overcoming adversity: gratitude lives in the margins. It hides in the little things. It presents itself as small but meaningful vignettes of beauty. These seemingly random and innocuous moments don’t always announce themselves. It’s up to us to notice them – to let them in.

We all carry bruises. We all wonder, at times, if this life is going to be what we hoped it would be when we were carefree children, sprinting across playgrounds of our youth, invincible. But sometimes—just sometimes—there are glimpses. Of beauty. Of purpose. Of each other.  They taught me that no matter what was happening on the outside, I always had a choice of what I was willing to let in; they showed me, by example, the power of perspective.

I keep a picture of Baseball Rob tucked in my sun visor of my car. He’s there to remind me of the man he was and the man I strive to be. As for Realtor Rob—he’s still around, still smiling, still inspiring everyone in his orbit. I don’t keep a picture of him in my car, of course; it would be slightly awkward trying to explain to my wife why I have a picture of some handsome fella with piercing blue eyes surreptitiously tucked away in my car. Instead, I just call his cell phone from time to time and let the soothing sounds of that familiar sonata remind me we’re all in this together. And for a brief but meaningful moment, it gives me hope – and that’s a good thing.

m.e.