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This page is dedicated to showing some of the many and remarkable letters that have come to us. To see more tributes to Robert click here.

 

April 21, 2002 - By Angela Cartwright

This has been the longest week... a nonstop emotional ride through the portals of a person’s life who was not ready to leave, and not ready to stop fighting, to the caverns of grief that a family must face and whose hearts have been torn by the disbelief...

After the memorial for Robert Urich, everyone went to Heather's home and lingered in the rooms and on the balconies exchanging stories. There were some laughs, and some tears and a lot of staring at the green golf course, which spread like a tablecloth in front of them.  How many times had Bob driven the course in his golf cart? Isn’t it odd that Bob's favorite flower, lilacs, only bloom in April and he would pick this month to pass? How many calla lily bulbs had he planted here in front of his library door?  My eyes rested on that empty chair on his library porch.

 

 

How many days were as beautiful as this one.  With the cerulean blue sky kissing the phthalo green grass... there would be no mixing colors if this day were to be painted, the colors would be right out of the tube.

Some of the bouquets were bigger than the front door, those only seem appropriate, for when Bob was in that house, he was bigger than life.

I hugged and spoke to people, some of them I only see occasionally. Familiar faces passed mine in the hallways, our eyes meeting in compassion and sadness. If I sat down right now I might never get up... if I cried right now I was afraid I would never stop... Heather stood in the entrance of her home for three hours greeting friends, and I knew she felt the same way. I wandered from room to room while the fragrance of lilacs lingered in the air...

The day was a dialogue of entrances and exits… food was there and then it was gone, wine glasses filled again and again, and the cerulean sky that turned midnight blue, gave birth to a million stars that had stayed dormant during the daytime but now glimmered overhead brighter than usual.  I felt closer to the earth, further from the craziness, and the world moved at a gentler pace… You could really see the stars out here too…

        ...and I remember nine months ago in Canada.  We sat around the fire pit after a gourmet meal that Bob had cooked from the the fresh vegetables Heather and I

had gathered at the market stands earlier that day. Bob sat in his adirondack chair, spread out his legs and leaned back to look at the stars.  He was tall and strong and handsome, and we all followed his lead, stretching out our legs and looking up at the blanket of stars overhead.  This was a different pocket of the world up here. Bob was so proud of this corner of the world that was his and he loved to share it.

It was decided that life should be kept as normal as possible the day after the memorial, so I drove out to Heather’s again for her daughter’s birthday party. That morning the birthday girl had asked her mother "if they could glue Daddy back together so he could come to her party."  The little four year old was excited about the princess dress she had received, even putting on the crown and the diamond shoes, she didn’t care much for the visit from Cinderella though.  I’m sure she was wishing someone else would visit her.  All the presents in the world would not replace the fact that someone was missing.

Sadness sweeps over me like a wave on the shore. Bob has moved on now, to a peaceful place where he won’t hurt anymore.  Only those left behind will hurt now.  But as someone close to me said, “I’d rather live 55 years to the fullest, then 80 empty years.” In that there is comfort. Robert Urich, only 55 years old, really did live an extraordinary life. I sure will miss him.

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