How I found out my dear Trinidadian friend Robert was gone
I didn’t post the birthday greeting on Robert’s page over the past week because Facebook notified me it was his birthday — I did so because I remembered his birthday.
(In fact, I remember all of my friends’ birthdays.)
I never expected what came next.
Robert has been special to me from the day we met in his home country, sweet Trinidad & Tobago, around the time I turned 25 years old for the “first time.”
It was a couple of years after my first trip to Trinidad, where I’d met my father for the first time, and my debut year playing mas at Trinidad Carnival. Robert was a lifesaver that season.
You see, I’d just moved to the twin-island republic for work and was living with the father I barely knew, and it was not going well.
A chance meeting with Robert at a Carnival event turned into a fast and lasting friendship — a foundation fully cemented when he took me in as a “roommate” to escape being under my father’s roof.
Robert, the epitome of gregariousness, quickly introduced me to his circle of amazing friends, including several prominent Trinidadians, who all warmly welcomed me into their lives.
And whenever he was going on the social scene — even if it was a late-night event and I was fast asleep — he would wake me up and take me with him. Because like a true Trini, Robert liked to party and a good party, and had to take a friend.
He took me to restaurants, wonderful hidden watering holes, friends’ homes, my first drag queen show, shopping for products for his interior design business, you name it.
One of my all-time favorite memories was when he first attempted to make curry chicken. In that sweet singsong Trini accent, I recalled him saying, “Queenie, gyal, iz first time me trying this, but we go eat it however it come out.” It was perfection. And was as authentically Trini as Robert. To this day, his is the exact way I make my curry chicken.
But the thing that stands out most for me with Robert, however, apart from that big beautiful smile on that Adonis of a man, and that big-azz mesmerizing, magnetic personality, is an even bigger heart. In addition to the shelter he provided when I needed a home (for almost two years), he gave me a shoulder to cry on during a devastating heartbreak, and ultimately helped me to reconcile that relationship with the man who remains the greatest love of my life.
When I was moving back to Barbados, Robert told me I’ll always have a home wherever he lived. I last visited him back in summer 2005 at his Mt. Lambert home just before I immigrated to the U.S.
Of course, we stayed in touch. Initially via long telephone and Skype calls until about the time I moved from New York to Washington, D.C. Afterward, communication became mostly texts and, yes, Facebook. Where every year we continued to send each other birthday greetings and responded graciously to each other.
So how did I not notice it this year?
Amid my trauma and frequent lengthy breaks from social media these past several months, I missed it. Until my birthday post to his page.
I got a notification today that someone I didn’t know “reacted” to the post with the heart emoji. Normally, I’d ignore such, but I clicked to see more. The below post caught my attention and sent me into a shock. So I kept scrolling in disbelief as the hot tears started to flow.
My friend Robert had died. Not today, not yesterday, not last week or even last month, but a few months ago. And I was now finding out. I don’t know the details.
I just wish I hadn’t been in such misery of my own to be more aware of what was going on with my friend.
I regret that in recent times, I’d not reached out beyond FB and texts.
Our last convo was exactly seven months to the day he died. I’m glad I told him then that I love him.
Thank you for being a friend, Robert Solomon. May light perpetual shine on you, my dear, may you rest in peace and rise in glory.
Island Soul City Dreams 