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Here is the audio recording of Robin's Memorial Service.

When Abby asked me to speak about Robin today I enthusiastically agreed not just because I’ll agree to almost anything to please whomever I’m talking to at the moment, but because Robin was one of the most interesting people I have had the good fortune of knowing. I was fascinated by him to a degree that bordered on the creepy. But when I sat down to write I was dismayed to discover the difficulty of expressing the depth of my admiration and I realized that there is little I am capable of saying about it. But not having a lot to say is perfectly appropriate because Robin’s virtues were simple and clear and don’t need much explaining.

I should confess that I never actually did anything with Robin. No hiking, no mountain biking, no motorcycle riding, and no camping, thank god, since camping is torture and I’m certain that no one actually enjoys it.

So I have no stories to tell——the only thing Robin and I ever did was talk.

So here is the impression that he made on me:

Robin had an inner life far richer and deeper than I could dream of having. He had a curious and rigorous mind. He could see and comprehend what most of us can’t. There was no topic or area of inquiry that he hadn’t researched and given a great amount of thought to. It could be engineering, ethics, motorcycles or mountain biking or, in the last year and a half, his illness, because Robin confronted his illness bravely and squarely, seeking to understand and learn everything he could about it. I think he did this not just to solve the problem but because he was helplessly curious and he had the mental powers to make sense out of what he read and studied and it was this activity in itself that was most gratifying for him.

I could have talked to Robin forever, not just to have the pleasure of hearing his laid-back baritone voice but because everything he talked about begged another question and elicited another patient explanation. He was extremely knowledgable and you could trust what he knew because he was so honest about what he didn’t. He was not pedantic and he was never exasperated or condescending, although he would have been justified in being both. And he never, ever came within a hundred miles of arrogance for his most admirable trait was his genuine humility. His was not the phony humility born of low-self esteem or the reflexive humility we use as a social gesture of good intent or good manners. Those are the very essence of self-concern and egoism. He wasn’t humble out of insecurity or because he thought it was endearing, he was humble because in all his learning and experience, he actually had seen firsthand that there were worlds of things he did not yet know or understand. Robin had what I long for for myself and everyone I care about, a profound curiosity about life and the intellectual powers and strength of character to engage with it in an endless cycle of question and answer.

There can be no doubt that Robin left us too early and it’s impossible not to contemplate what could have been, or what should have been. We are by design a glass-half-empty species. But to dwell too long on what might be or what might have been is to miss the beauty of what really is and what really was. His modesty, his thoughtfulness, his quiet genius, his sense of wonder with the world and the depth and strength of his love for his family and friends will always be an inspiration for those of us who are lucky enough to have lived in his orbit.

I would like to express gratitude to all of you attending today and watching on line in memory of Robin. Looking out I see many familiar faces from Robin’s childhood, colleagues from his work and dear friends of Robin and Abby, many of whom have traveled long distances to celebrate Robin’s life.

Thank you to Robin’s colleagues here at Lehigh who gave him an opportunity for a career here. I would also like to thank them for their help in planning this service and reception.

I am especially grateful to Dr. Kahlil with Lehigh Valley Hospital for his “hail-Mary” emergency chemo therapy treatment that gave Robin what he called the best summer of his adult life. That same extension of time has also given the rest of us an opportunity to appreciate Robin more deeply, knowing we would lose him when the treatments finally ran out.

But most of all, I am so grateful to Abby for metaphorically laying down her life for her husband and best friend.

Abby’s loving and intelligent care for Robin was wonderful to behold.

At each increasingly difficult stage of Robin’s illness, Abby would grieve, and then focus and inform herself as to how best to meet the next phase of caring for Robin.

Thank you, Abby, from all of us, for taking such good care of our dear Robin.

We love you and you will always be part of our family.

Robin was born during the Christmas holidays and was a gift to our whole family from his very beginning.

There’s a good story about that day. Robin was born at home with a home birth doctor and assistant in attendance. Also in attendance were two friends of Denise to help her through the birth, along with Robin’s three older siblings and me.

At some point after he was born and all attention had been given to be sure mother and baby were alright, I remember distinctly someone asking, “Where’s the baby?”

It’s not the kind of question one expects under these circumstances!

After a little searching, it turns out Robin’s five year old sister, Kyra, had sequestered him quietly away from the commotion in her own room down the hall.

There began a special bond between Robin and Kyra that continues to this day.

I am still struck with a very early memory of Robin as a small boy heading out the screen door on a summer afternoon: I said, “Hey guy- what are you up to?” He answered; “I think I’ll go do something with a ball.” I find that so descriptive of Robin’s sense of coordination- whether it was juggling, devil sticks, mountain bikes, hockey, motorcycling. Whatever physical activity he took on, he did it well. I have a clear image of him as a four year old holding a sawed off hockey stick begging for a pass from the bigger people skating around him . He would call out in his tiny voice; “score me the puck”. In later years, anyone who played hockey for, or against, Robin knew that if the puck did get to him, scoring was the likely outcome.

Robin’s compassionate nature deepened as he grew older. He became increasingly concerned about the human condition and our relationship to the world we live in. I would like to share with you a powerful quote he shared with me:

(Barry Lopez: Arctic Dreams.)

“No culture has yet solved the dilemma each has faced with the growth of a conscious mind: how to live a moral and compassionate existence … when one finds darkness not only in one’s own culture but within oneself. If there is a stage at which an individual life becomes truly adult, it must be when one grasps the irony in its unfolding and accepts responsibility for a life lived in the midst of such paradox. One must live in the middle of contradiction because if all contradiction were eliminated at once life would collapse. There are simply no answers to some of the great pressing questions. You continue to live them out, making your life a worthy expression of a leaning into the light.”

Robin didn’t discover those words until later in his shortened life. But I believe he lived them.

Visiting him a few days before he passed, I assured him that I would see him again. He said , yes.

I said, do you think we will? He said, yes, I do.

When I said, “that will be a happy day!”, his whole expression lit up as if the sun’s rays suddenly beamed through his smiling face, the biggest smile I have ever seen.

Then he said, “three happy days, four sad days.” Wondering if there was any significance in the numbers, I asked; What does that amount to?

The scientist answered, “a net deficit!”

Robin, you have shown tremendous grace and courage in the face of inevitable death. We loved our time with your infectious smile, good humour and compassionate character.

We are grateful to have shared in your light.

My name is Benjamin Schrock, son of Kathy and Roger, and longtime friend of Robin. It is the greatest honor to pay tribute to Robin. Thank you, Abby for this opportunity.

I have struggled to put into words what Robin means to me. I want to be able to voice every wonderful trait, every touching moment, every funny story I know about Robin. I want to properly honor his memory for his wife, his family, and his friends. But I know that’s impossible. So I humbly offer this snapshot of Robin, a few memories I already held dear, and now I hold them so much closer.

Robin and I were born and raised in Kempton, and while we didn’t become close until high school, we were fishing buddies as kids. I would sometimes bike to the ponds by his house, and Robin would often come out to join me. We would fish and ramble around the woods together. One afternoon, we decided to keep track of the sunnies we caught by temporarily relocating them to a small spill-over pond across the road. We landed 65 sunnies that day.

When the ponds iced over in the winter, we played hockey. Robin was a natural on skates, and playing against him was always a fun yet humbling experience. I can still hear the sound of his warm chuckle mingling with the scrape of his skates on the ice as he effortlessly evades my attempts to get the puck from him.

Our friendship grew as we did. I’d still go over to his house, but now we would spend summer evenings sitting around the fire in his backyard visiting with friends and family. And there was always lots of laughter. Robin brought humor to every gathering, with his sharp wit, warm smile, and ready laugh. Robin and the rest of the Hendricks’s have a wonderful tendency to laugh until they cry, and it is contagious. It is something I will always cherish when I think of Robin.

After high school we went our separate ways, but we later reunited and got an apartment with Nippy Brown for a few gloriously irresponsible years. As our apartment was the gathering place for our friends, it became known as the Dude Ranch. And that probably tells you as much as you should know about it... But I will say that if you were lucky enough to visit the Dude Ranch, you would have first admired the three matching motorcycles parked in the driveway. And upon entering our living room, you would have been wowed when you realized we had more wide screen TVs than household occupants. I have fond memories of this time with Robin. He elevated the dude ranch with his easy going nature and wry sense of humor and also with a subscription to the Wall Street journal and the Economist which saved us from looking like total degenerates.

Life was simpler then—our days consisted of lots of coffee, video games, and motorcycle rides. But no bathroom cleaning. Robin had a stubborn streak, and he told us in no uncertain terms that he would never clean bathrooms. But he made up for it by keeping our kitchen immaculate. And that same stubbornness made him an unwavering friend and a man who wasn’t afraid to do what he felt was right.

Many of us got into mountain biking, and while Robin went on to be quite a proficient rider, our early biking adventures were peppered with mishaps and frequent mid-ride bike repairs. But we laughed and persevered. And invested in better quality bikes.

One day Robin and I were lounging on our sofas, and Mark Wyncoll popped his head in to pick us up for hockey. He joked that this lazing around was no way for us to find our married partners. But he was mistaken. Robin’s tactic worked. The beautiful Abigail Jane walked into the Dude Ranch, managing to pick her way between the motorcycles and TVs, or rather to see past them. That was the end of Robin’s bachelor days. When he started dating Abby, Robin’s smile and spirit brightened. It was so natural for them to be together. Robin once said to me, “Abby saved me. I don’t know where I would have gone or what I would have done had I not found her, or more like had she not found me.”

One by one all of our friends were dating, getting engaged, and getting married. Going to weddings with Robin and Abby became a frequent and favorite pastime for me and my future wife Shilah. I can tell you that Robin’s grace on the ice does not translate to the dance floor. But his good nature does, and his signature finger wagging, air guitar, and sheepish smile were so endearing that they became a running joke. We were overjoyed when the time came to celebrate Robin and Abby’s union. They belong together.

When Robin’s health complications forced him to give up mountain biking, he got back on the motorcycle, bravely finding freedom and joy despite his terminal diagnosis. He eventually upgraded to a more powerful bike, telling me that he didn’t really need that much power, but the thrum of the engine vibrated his soul. When I last hung out with him and asked what he was up to, he said, “My life is pretty one-dimensional these days. I’m either riding my motorcycle or planning my next motorcycle ride.” I don’t think he was giving himself enough credit. I think he was preparing to expand into a new dimension, where his soul is vibrating at a higher frequency, where he is truly free and indescribably joyful.

Robin told me that he was not afraid of death but of how the aftermath would affect his loved ones. He left a void that cannot be filled, a hole as deep as our love for him. He knew we would cry. But I bet he will also want us to laugh, when we can. So I’m going to keep crying until I laugh, and then laugh until I cry. Just like my friend Robin.

I feel so lucky to know Robin, and I can’t wait to laugh with him again, because I miss him something fierce.

This is a difficult task - to stand here before all of you, and try to sum up why Robin matters so much to me and pay tribute to his life. It is impossible to explain to you, how broken I feel. It is impossible to show you how emotionally and physically humbled by grief I am. Like a pieta, I feel Robin lying across my metaphorical heart. A burden that comes with the willingness to love someone fully, and a bittersweet love that I will carry with me throughout the rest of my life. I always knew that loving Robin was a gift. I truly felt and still feel that I won the lottery in love. How I convinced this sweet, gentle, caring, and kind human to love me is beyond my comprehension.

Robin was always my biggest supporter and champion. He attended countless galleries and art openings in New York and Philly with me, almost always cheerfully, and in exchange I would go to the Museum of Natural History with him, or an aquarium. He was always willing to help me get ready for art shows, which artists know can be a huge undertaking. One particular memory that stands out to me is when he came down to Philly in 2015, to help me make frames over the weekend for my senior art show at PAFA.

Robin helped me become a better person in so many ways - in so many ways that I won’t have time to tell all of you here. One particular moment that stands out to me, was when Robin and I had just visited the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and in my youthful furry I went on a rant about how Tissot isn’t as good as Degas. After a few moments, Robin turned to me, and said “don’t be an art fascist.” Ever since then, I’ve been trying not to be.

Robin cried when he read or listened to poetry. Robin loved animals, especially our dog, Piper. He loved being as he said “co-creaturly” with her and me. He was soft and gentle with her although sometimes after she did something naughty he liked to threaten “that he would turn her into a hat.”

In many ways, although Robin and I have been together for over 12 years, I feel like I was just beginning to get to know Robin. Unsurprisingly, I feel jipped and thwarted for many reasons by his premature exit. As a couple, right before he was diagnosed, we were just beginning to enjoy some financial stability, career growth, and had finally moved to an area that suited both of us more equitably. Things were going as well as they could be, full of promise and hope until they fell apart in January of 2022, when we found out the poor way he had been feeling the past few months was caused by an incurable cancer.

Robin was always surprising me with his knowledge and different areas of interest. A common occurrence was me saying “have you heard of this fill in the blank”, and Robin casually replying with a general base of knowledge about the subject I had queried him on. A reflection of his diverse areas of interests is well pictured in his audible library with titles such as:

How to Change your Mind - Michael Pollan

Several titles by - Barry Lopez

The Case Against Reality - Donald Hoffman

How Not to be Wrong - Jorden Ellenberg

The Big Short - Michael Lewis

Fooled by Randomness : the Hidden Role of Chance in Life and in the Markets

Who We are and How we Got Here - David Reich

1491 - Charles Mann

Thinking Fast and Slow - Daniel Kahneman

Several courses and titles on Paleontology

At least 7 different lectures by Bart Erhman on topics such as Heaven and Hell, Historical Jesus, the The New Testament

So, in summary just found in his audible account - The history of Religion, Economics, Paleontology, Psychology, and Probability.

Robin loved to read on his phone in his down time. Often taking a reclining position on the couch, with Piper our dog lying on his legs, he would fall into what he called “wikipedia vortexes”. Out of curiosity I would sometimes ask him what he was reading about, and the topic never failed to surprise me. He often said he didn’t know what he could do with all the information he had - and sadly for us, we will not get to see him continue to develop his passions and interests in life.

The last vacation we took together was at Long Beach Island NJ over Memorial Day Weekend after we had just found out that his cancer was progressing again. As we sat on the beach, he read, as he usually did, and I played the “what are you reading game” and he answered “I’m 10 minutes into an article on whether or not Elephants have souls.” When I asked him if the article answered this question he said - no, it was inconclusive.

Robin had an excellent sense of humor - he loved irony. This winter, as I was trying on a very chic black dress that I intended to wear to work - he quipped “Are you preparing for my funeral?”

And, about a week into hospice care, when his dad, Steve, mentioned that he thought Robin was doing better than he had been a few weeks ago - Robin dryly said between clove cigar puffs

“Well, you know - it’s the Dead Cat Bounce.”

Robin was a pacifist at his core- sometimes that pacifism looked like avoiding conflict but it also manifested as an active effort to do no harm- to not create unnecessary conflict. While it’s very common and easy for people to operate from a place of fear, scarcity, and anger - assuming that people are out to get you - Robin never reacted in that way. He always assumed the best of people, and if anyone did him harm, he shrugged it off. He didn’t let things get to him. He often told me, whenever I was whipped up about something “Be like a duck, let the water roll off your back.”

I heard my sister in law tell Robin, that when she came into the family, he never made her feel judged. He made her feel welcomed and heard and everything she said was respected and thoughtfully considered. I think a lot of us who know Robin well can relate to this.

Robin was someone who seemingly held everyone so easily- but sadly the toll was often social anxiety. And he struggled with depression- perhaps genetic, circumstantial, and likely because of the cancer, or perhaps just because it’s something a lot of people struggle with. He always wanted more awareness especially for men to get help, to seek therapy and treatment. So if you are here in this space right now and need support for your mental health, go get some. You can say that Robin sent you.

Part of Robin’s struggles that he shared with me, was that he felt like wasn’t doing enough to better humanity with his job. He spent a lot of time in therapy, trying to define his role and in the last few weeks of his life I think it became to clear to us, that he had been fulfilling a great gift to humanity all along - he was gently building kind connections that made people feel heard, valued, appreciated, and respected. It became evident once he started hospice care that he had made a profound impact on many of the people who he came into contact with from the volume and depth of outreach we received. In the last few weeks of his life he said that he felt “wrapped in a cocoon of love.”

Robin always offered me comfort, strength and reassurance, even up until his death. During hospice, at one point, I was crying at his feet, telling him that I didn’t know how I was going to live without him. He mustered all his remaining energy to tell me with sincerity, compassion, and firmness “right now things feel insurmountable- but they are surmountable”

As Robin grappled with his imminent death, and he was devastated for sure- he eventually came to rest on the fact that there will never be enough time. That he could kick the can down the road just to hang on, to stay alive, but that the cirucmustances of that time would not be how he wanted to live. Once he came to that realization and shared it with me and close family, we understood the bitter truth- that yes, there would never be enough time with Robin. In addition to this deep understanding, he began to reread a book he loved by Barry Lopez called Arctic dreams. In the epilogue to Arctic dreams, Lopez describes the relationship between Eskimos and the land saying that “the great task of life for the traditional Eskimo is to achieve congruence with a reality that is already given.” Leading up to Robin's choice to begin hospice care and on the recent family trip he took he brought this up a lot - “that we need to find congruence with the reality that’s already given”. This is a beautiful way to express acceptance.

So here we are. It's been two weeks since Robin died today. The way that I try to cope with difficult life circumstances, is to try to find meaning and lessons in the hardship. To try to rebuild from the rubble. I find myself asking what we can take from Robin’s example of how to live life?

I suggest that we all try to be more kind and loving to each other, not just to our friends but to strangers. I suggest that we not assume the worst of people but the best. I suggest we be nonreactive. I suggest that we find humor and joy in life. I suggest that we start quiet, calm, peaceful, and kind revolutions within our communities. I suggest that we be thoughtful and caring citizens of this planet. That we try to leave it better than we found it, that we try to be more like Robin, a thoughtful and genuinely kind human.