The Stephen Sondheim Theater became less a venue and more a living scrapbook of Rob Reiner’s life, as Billy Crystal turned his grief into language. He didn’t try to be funny. He didn’t reach for comfort. Instead, he walked everyone through the private corners of a friendship that had outlived careers, marriages, and eras of comedy. He spoke of poker games and quiet phone calls, of being the sons of giants, and of the unspoken weight they both carried.
By the time he whispered, “I don’t know how to start this next part without you,” the room understood it was hearing a man trying to learn how to exist with half his history gone. His final gesture—resting his hand on the casket and murmuring, “I’ll have what you’re having, my friend”—wasn’t a joke. It was a vow, a promise to keep Rob’s spirit alive in every story yet to be told.
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