Our dear Bobby had a habit of calling family members, beginning the conversation with: “Hey, don’t tell mom, but I took her phone. I wanted to call you.” That was how those conversations would always start. And we deeply treasured those calls from him.

That’s the kind of man Robert McCoskey was. Kind, thoughtful, and always a little bit goofy. To say he could light up a room doesn’t do him justice. No cliche could. Robert, or Bobby as he was affectionately known, brought joy with him everywhere he went. The life of every party, he took time to make everyone smile.

Bobby chose to spend his life giving back to the world. Spending his winters volunteering, Bobby rang the Salvation Army bell outside stores since he was a kid, consistently bringing in the most donations with his warmth and holiday cheer. He helped out in food and toy drives too, wearing his Santa Claus outfit. That’s how we’d like to the world to remember Bobby, the real life Santa Claus, because he carried joy in his heart and his heart on his sleeve.

His good deeds didn’t stop there though, in fact they didn’t seem to stop anywhere. He volunteered at church drives and yard sales where he was known to give the shirt off his back, literally. Bobby also made a name for himself in the scouts. The Boy Scouts of America have recognized Robert “Bobby” McCoskey with achievements and honors such as Life Scout, Order of The Arrow, and Assistant Scout Master. He happily spent his time camping and teaching other scouts sign language, a skill he also brought home to teach his little sister.

Not many people knew that Bobby also became a world class bowler. Bowling was one of life’s greatest gifts to Bobby and one he was passionate about. That passion paid off when he competed and was awarded the silver medal in the Special Olympics.

The loss of our Bobby is a loss for the world. He loved to travel and meet new people. With a nose for adventure and a kind heart, Bobby had no shortage of friends. Always a man for funny hats and good times, you can mention his name across the country, and someone will pipe up to ask how he’s been. Then they’ll tell you a story from some beach or party many years ago. Always helping. Always lending a hand. It may have been while ringing a bell, riding his bike, or wiping the floor with you at the bowling alley … Bobby was always the sweetest, kindest and funniest man.

While he’s left a hole in our hearts and in our lives, such a kind man will have a good seat in the kingdom of heaven. He was a wonderful son, an amazing brother, and the most loving uncle his many nieces and nephews could have asked for. Robert McCoskey leaves us, his grieving family, behind: his mother Roberta, brothers Brian,Tim, Kent Jr., George, and his sister Debra. Rest in peace Bobby, and may heaven have a lane waiting for you. In our hearts, we will always be waiting for your phone call. We will keep your secret, and we won’t tell mom.

My mother’s pies were more than just dessert. In my family, they were considered the pinnacle of culinary perfection; the standard by which all other desserts would forever be measured. The secret was the crust, which was always a flaky, golden brown masterpiece — just the right vehicle to hold the delectable fruity filling within. I have never tasted anything else that even comes close.

Mom’s talent for pie making was truly a gift from above. Her mother’s pies never quite measured up. And when Mom tried to teach me this baking skill, I proved to be sorely lacking the pie-baking gene. Part of me suspected that Mom was happy to wear this crown in our family, and for years we all looked forward to the pies we would enjoy during every visit to my parents’ house.

But this January, when my sister and I went to see Mom one week before she passed away, pie couldn’t have been further from my mind. The doctor had called us to say my mother was deteriorating; we were given permission to visit for one hour. We donned PPE since there were several COVID positive residents in her area, and we got to spend some time with her. We were grateful to be able to see her, but Alzheimer’s had robbed her of so much. Our hearts were breaking.

Mom was frantic when we arrived, and my sister and I didn’t know what to do. Our efforts to comfort her weren’t working. We tried singing show tunes to help her relax. We sang “The Wells Fargo Wagon” from The Music Man, which was her favorite musical. We prayed. We tried to reminisce. Sadly, Mom wasn’t really able to follow the conversation, her responses revealing the devastating disease. But when it was nearly time for Mom’s lunch, my sister started talking about pie.

“It is almost lunchtime, Mom. Do you think they will have pie?” my sister said, trying to fill the gaps of conversation. “What kind of pie do you like, Mom? What is your favorite?”

Mom looked up at us and with a clear voice she answered, “Any pie is good pie.”

Mom was back, even if just for a second, and we were connected again. That was the last “real” thing she said to me. I will savor the flavor of that moment for the rest of my days.

I’ve begun a project called “Live Like Pop” in honor of my Dad, aka Pop, who was the best man I’ve ever known and helped others selflessly every day without expecting anything in return. The project is in honor of my father, but also all those we’ve lost to Covid-19. As a nurse practitioner, I am sadly immersed in these losses everyday, both personally and professionally. And, my life will be forever affected by this.

The penny represents my Dad because he owned his own coin operated laundry business since he was 16 years old and he would always find coins in the dryer that he would give to me. One day when I was about 6, he found about ten shrunken pennies in the dryer. I remember his hands as he got down on his knee and handed them to me. I saved all of our coins we found over the years. So what may look like a penny to some, when I look, I see my Dad.

My Pop cared for everyone, including all pets. He used to carry around extra dog and cat food in the back of his truck, and would feed every stray he saw. He loved his life, lived it to the fullest, laughed often, gave his wife and 6 kids the best life anyone could ever dream of.

One of my many favorite childhood memories: after working all day, he would come have tea parties with me outside in the wooden playhouse he built for me. He was so tall that when he sat in my playhouse as I prepared the tea (fruit juice, sprite, kool aid), his head touched the roof. Still, he smiled and drank my very creative teas. Then, he would come to my playroom where I set up a grocery store. He would push my little yellow buggy around and pick out fake groceries and let me scan them. Then he would pay me with my fake money. Even then, the seeds of my penny project were being sown.

My project is still being put together. It’s a work in progress, which seems appropriate, given how we’ve lived our lives since the pandemic began. To hear more about what I’m doing, visit my website: livelikepop.org. Send me a penny with your thoughts. Let’s all remember together.

You were taken on New Year’s Eve. It was just diagnosed as bronchopneumonia then. You left before meeting your grandson Leo. You’re forever in my thoughts. Love, your son.

Philip was a dreamer, big was not big enough for him. Extremely driven and a conqueror. He was bigger than life.

My husband and I met in 2003, through the internet. Fresh off the airplane this guy caught my attention and so did I in his eyes. A Greek god he called himself … hmmm … I loved him instantly. Then the day he told me he had fallen in love with me, OMG!! … I did too. Pregnancy, marriage, house, kids …12 years were not enough … a wrestling tournament in PA our demise … why oh why did you go … we shared the disease, as I suffered it too, but it is not even, it picks carefully who it will kill … and it was not me … March 8th positive, March 18 intubated, March 25th ECMO, April 24th death … May 5th, that day my white wedding dress became black … and my anguish to run away from the pain began.

12 years were not enough: your mom, your sister, your wife (me), your children, family and friends — we will never take breathing for granted again.

I love you, you will always be unconditionally loved …
Your one and only, your wife … :'(