I had just sat down at my computer and started perusing the various news sites. I like to read the entertainment tabloids first if for no better reason than to see ridiculous stories about J-Lo renting a beach or if some other celebrity got popped for drunk driving.
That’s when I read the news.
Robin Gibb is in the hospital suffering from a variety of maladies. Cancer of the colon and liver being one of them. His family making a bedside vigil hoping for recovery. Robin’s twin brother Maurice died unexpectedly back in 2003 and now, the possibility that 2/3 of the Bee Gees might be gone suddenly became a reality.
For a moment I thought about closing my web browser. I guess I believed that somehow me doing that would magically make it disappear and everything would be as it were just a minute ago.
But I read on. And it was like a punch in the stomach.
Having myself lost my own father to the disease 15 years ago I can personally relate to what their family is going through now. I quickly re-lived everything that I went through during my father’s last days. How all of the wishful thinking, prayers and hopes that somehow, the sickest man in the entire hospital would somehow pull through just wasn’t enough.
Worse still, the news of Robin’s possible final hours only reminded me of my own mortality.
I recalled how carefree I was as an eight-year old boy back in 1977 when Stayin’ Alive was on the radio. How I went to my cousin’s house to listen to all of those cool songs from the soundtrack on his stereo. Or how I used to beg my Mom and Dad to take me to see Saturday Night Fever but was only laughed to scorn because of the “R” rating. It sure was fun being a kid during the height of the disco age.
I can’t even remember the last time I listened to that entire album. I may just have to call my cousin and see if he still has it. He probably won’t but it will be fun to talk about those days again.
And how 35 years later, I’m once again reminded that every beginning has an end.