Death of a Dear Friend

A tradition for Hubby and me on Sunday morning is watching CBS Sunday Morning. Somehow I had missed the fact that our favorite author, Robert B. Parker, died this week. When Sunday Morning eulogized him briefly today, our household went into mourning.

Parker has been one of our most read authors during the last 30 years. Our home library contains all the Spenser novels and most of the spin-offs, too (Jesse Stone and Sunne Randall). I even loved the Spenser TV series with Robert Ulrich, though, of course, Parker himself hated the series.

I enjoyed the stories about Parker and his wife Joan -- how they lived in a duplex with her upstairs in her own private quarters and he could only visit when she invited him upstairs while she had free roam of the entire complex. He, like Spenser, did all the cooking for them both. I thought the couple (like Susan and Spenser) had worked out a wonderful relationship. I enjoyed the stories of his sons, especially the gay one whom they accepted openly and clearly admired.

Spenser, Hawk, and Susan have been an integral part of our family. When Hubby had his aneurysm, the novels he reread over and over while recuperating were the early Spensers. Several times in my life I've reread the Spenser books in chronological order. They always bring us a new sense of delight. Now that Hubby is beginning the onset of glaucoma, he asked for big print Spenser novels for Christmas this year. On our last trip to Barnes and Nobles Hubby left with three new copies of Spenser books that were duplicate copies of worn-out ones on our shelves.

Robert P. Parker brought us much happiness. We thought of him as an old and trusted friend. We will miss him greatly.