51, of St. Petersburg, passed away on Tuesday, September 2nd, 2008 at Bay Pines Veterans Hospital, surrounded by his loving family. Bob was born on May 4, 1957, in Wurzburg, Germany. Being part of a military family, Bob lived in Greece and Indonesia where he graduated from the Joint Embassy School in Jakarta. He also lived in many parts of the U.S. He proudly served in the Army, and then worked in the cabinet industry for many years. Later in life he drove an ice cream truck, enjoying the smiles of children. Bob had a great love and respect for nature. He was a writer, a poet, an avid reader, and possessed a great sense of humor. Music was his greatest pleasure, football, stamp collecting and many others.
He is survived by his parents, Bob and Wilma Creech, his wife Veronica Roni, sons Patrick and Corey, daughters Desiree and Summer, grandchildren Alyssa, Julian, Keith, Morgan, and Aiden, his former wife Debbie, his brother Al and his wife Connie, and many relatives in Kansas. His life-long friend Patrick Gould, Bella the cat, and his lost dog Jethro Bodine.
A celebration of Bob’s life will take place on Tuesday, September 9th, 2008, 6:30 pm, at the Park Place Wesleyan, 4400 70th Ave. N., in Pinellas Park, FL 33781. In lieu of flowers, contributions to the family would be greatly appreciated and please visit www.veteransfuneralcare.com for the online obituary.
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Robert was my youngest and I will see him in Heaven he is with our Lord.
Ralph and I think this is a wonderful tribute to Bobby. We love you guys. We will see you soon
Love Ralph and Jo
Those we love remain with us in the whisper of the wind,
In a soft rain that falls from Heaven,
In each sunrise and in every star that lights the night sky and,
In every single memory we hold within our hearts.
I didn’t know Robert except through a friend. But living in the Free US, I am grateful for his Military service. May your memories comfort you in this difficult time.
I am a friend of Summer and corey i had a little sister named Katy that had died i am now in st.pete and trying to get ahold of summer or corey I am so sorry for Your lose and summer Or Corey can get ahold of me at 1 850 381 6400 Im so sorry
My best wishes and good thoughts go out to Bob’s family. Some of them are friends of mine–as was he. And my life is better for having known Bob. Follow the yellow brick road…
I am Roni’s son in Buffalo, NY. There are few words to express my condolences at a time like this. I would just like you all to know that I am truly sorry for your loss. I didn’t know Bob well but whenever I called the house he spoke to me with a genuine
My condolences for the passing of your son. May God comfort you.
Brenda Perez
I met Bob in high school in Jakarta, Indonesia in 1973.
Through the years we remained close friends.
Bob was a very loyal friend.
He was a person of integrity and when he told you he would do something, you could count on it.
I am honored that he named his son Patrick after me.
He was very proud of his family.
We are all grateful for his service to our country.
Bob was a great person and I will miss him very much.
My thoughts and prayers are with you and your family!
Love,
Marian and Andrew
I’m so sorry for your loss Wilma and Bob and the family. I am a friend of Wilmas and I know that you will all be united in Heaven, we are so blessed to have the knowledge that this is not the end, but the beginning and that Bob is in glory at the feet of Jesus.
My brother’s montra was “live fast, party hard, and die young.”
This is the man I know. So I applaud my brother for achieving his ultimate goal. This was the man I knew.
i hope he is happy in heaven.
My Bob, my Sweetheart, my Husband, my Love, my Friend and often, the major Debate of relationships. In spite if all, we made it work. You were Max, I was Toots. I miss you more than you will ever know. Many will never understand, and ya know, Baby, so what!!! WE KNOW! I love you everyday of my life and when I see you again, we’ll have a lot to share. No more pain, Baby, no more pain. I talk to you every day, I hope you hear me. I have loved you always, more than you will ever know. I miss and love you in every pore of my being. Be proud of us, as we are of you.You are always with me, Bob. Always, my Love. Never let go, Baby. xxxooo-forever.
I did not get the chance to know Bob, but I have been blessed to have my life touched by his soul mate, Roni, whose spirit I know must have lit up some of his darkest days at a time when he needed it most.
Roni, love is a light, and it never goes out. Bob will always be with you, and your love is eternal.
You, and all of your family, are in my thoughts and prayers.
To Ronnie and the children, I am sorry for your loss. Bob was witty, intelligent, worldly and interesting to be around. I also thank him for his military service. He will be remembered.
The angels are always near to those who are grieving, to whisper to them that their loved ones are safe in the hand of God.
Love
Patrice
Deeply sorry for your loss. Please know that my thoughts and prayers are with you and your family!
xxox Melanie
I am a friends of Roni’s, who never had the chance to meet Bob.
Words, however kind, can’t mend your heartache: but those who care and share your loss wish you comfort and peace of mind.
May you find strength in the love of family and in the warm embrace
of friends.
Dear Roni, and family,
I am so sorry for your loss.
Roni, I LOVED your message to your husband, loved it.
I hope that the love of family and friends will surround, lift you up, and carry you all through this most difficult time.
Keep the faith,
With love and all my best wishes,
~ Barbara Young,
xox
Dear Roni and Family,
I am truly sorry for your loss. Although I did not know Robert, I know he made my friend, Roni happy in their life together. So I know he had to be a wonderful man who will be missed.
Much love and peace,
Kate
It’s 6:30 in the morning, May 11th, 2015. I have not slept. I’m watching a documentary on Jack Kerouac, and I’ve decided to pick up his work tomorrow.
It’s seven years later, and I’m thinking of you. My life is tumultuous, and I’m wishing more than anything that you were here to steady it. Like how you steadied my sobbing body after I grabbed and lifted the glass pan I used to make us brownies that day. Dad, I’ve lived my life that way, since you left. It’s funny how you lived such a wild life, and yet you were the only one who could ever keep mine on track.
We are the same person, I’ve learned. The thought terrifies me, and at the same time it brings me so much pride that I feel as though I don’t have the right to bestow such a compliment upon myself. It is true though. Sadly. Fortunately.
I am a writer. I don’t write as much as I should, but it’s one of the only things I’ve ever been told I’m good at. When I do write, I get the reassurance I want, but not the motivation I need, because you were the only one who ever made me want to push myself. I read. I read at work, and when I get home from work, and I read when I walk. I walk. I walk, and I think of you, and I remember the times the sun would cast shadows of our figures on the asphalt. Your legs were so much longer than mine, and you were a daddy long legs, and I, a little bug scurrying along side you.
I’m sad. My god, I am sad. You always said I was so sensitive, growing up. “It is both a blessing and a curse to feel everything so deeply”. I would give credit but the source escapes me. I feel everything, and always have, but now, nearing 25, all of the feeling has billowed up into this cumulonimbus cloud. It is just as vast and overwhelming, despite all of its beauty. I am sad. I remember the nights when you would be lying in bed, crying, spilling your very soul from your eyes onto your bony cheeks, and I would gently trace my thumb across your skin and let all of your feelings soak into me. And I would lie there with you. And you would tell me of all your fears and failures, and I would cry there with you. You never realized how truly remarkable you were.
Most nights your thoughts are like an echo in my head. And as I hear myself thinking them, I hear you repeating yours. We are the same. Sadly. Fortunately.
I’m almost 25. By this time I’ve accumulated so much internally that if I had to describe my mind, the closest thing I could compare it to would be a giant clump of thin chained necklaces. All of things I’ve read, and seen, and felt, and lived through, and my perceptions of all of it, and the memories I’ve made- they’re all tangled, and interwoven. They all keep piling up, and getting tangled together, and dad, I’m so afraid of losing the links of you. I keep searching for you through all of this mess. I remember rain dances, and The Beatles playing in the backyard, and you and Tom helping me learn how to ride that massive bike in the yard that I always remembered being much bigger than I know it is, now. And I remember cinnamon rolls on Saturday mornings while watching episodes of Reboot, and dancing in the kitchen. But everything keeps piling up in my head. And I don’t have anything more of you to add. I’m so scared of losing your links.
I find solace in knowing that we are the same person. You will not die until I die, and even then you will be eternal. There is so much of us, of you, in everything I create. You’ll be in every journal I exhaust, and in the base colors of every painting I clumsily create on canvas. We are the same person. And I am both terrified and proud.
And I miss you.