Birth date: Oct 3, 1962 Death date: Jun 28, 2026
Ronald Allen Drinkhouse, a longtime resident of Kansas City who made his home in Draper, Utah in recent years, passed away June 28th, 2026 at the age of 63. Ron was born on October 3rd of 1962 in Elmhurst, Illinois to Michelle an Read Obituary
Cherry Cherry lit a candle in memory of Ronald Drinkhouse
Five years. It doesn't sound like a long time to some people, but to me, it was a lifetime. And honestly? It was the best five years of my life.
We met by chance in the online world, but we became family by choice. I don't remember the exact day we became the closest of friends—it just happened. From that very first day, we ended up talking to each other every single day, without fail. One day we were just two people typing on screens, and the next, I couldn't imagine my life without him in it. He became my special close friend, my confidant, and my person. The one I texted first when something good happened, and the only one I wanted to talk to when things fell apart.
Even though the distance kept us apart, he always made his way to me. Every single year since the first year we met, he would travel all the way to Thailand just to see me. Those visits became the anchors of my years. When we were together, I could hear his laugh so clearly. It was loud, a little ridiculous, and completely contagious. He had this way of making everything feel lighter, even when life was heavy. He was the one special close friend who just got me. No explanation needed.
Our very last conversation was on Monday, June 22nd. We were so excited planning our upcoming trip to Phuket and his arrival on November 25th. His last text to me was a peaceful "good night" at 10:21 PM.
Then Tuesday morning came, and for the first time, I couldn't reach him. We always greeted each other every morning and evening, so when my countless calls went unanswered, I completely froze, not knowing what to do. By Wednesday, my anxiety turned into deep dread. Knowing he lived all alone, I desperately searched for any way to reach him until, by some grace, I found his daughter’s email. I messaged her immediately, begging her to check on him since I was so far away.
Days of agonizing silence passed. On Sunday, his sister told me she couldn't reach him either and was asking neighbors to check his house. Then on Monday, his son, Matthew, sent me the news that broke my heart completely—that he was gone.
He taught me so much without even trying. He taught me not to take life too seriously. But most of all, he taught me what it meant to be truly seen and accepted for exactly who I am—flaws and all. He never judged me. He just showed up, time after time, and loved me unconditionally, like family.
There were so many small, ordinary moments that I miss the most. The daily texts, the updates on each other's days, and the inside jokes that no one else would understand. The excitement of counting down the days until his next flight to Thailand. Those little things were actually the biggest things.
Five years wasn't nearly enough. I would have given anything for fifty more. But I've come to realize that you don't measure a special, close friendship by the number of years—you measure it by how deeply you connected, how much you laughed, and how many times you were there for each other when it truly mattered. And by that measure, our friendship was more than most people get in a lifetime.
I don't think I'll ever fully accept that he's gone. But I know he's not really gone, either. He's in every chat history we shared. He's in the memory of every place we visited together in Thailand. He's in every stupid meme I see and want to send him. He's in the silence when I pick up my phone to text him, only to remember I can't.
I am so incredibly grateful—beyond words—for this beautiful friendship we shared. Thank you for giving me such wonderful memories and a bond that I will cherish forever. I will never, ever forget you. Thank you for choosing me as your friend. Thank you for all the laughter, the tears, the daily conversations, and the unconditional support. Thank you for just being you.
You were my special close friend. My anchor. My safe space. And I will carry you with me, in my heart, for the rest of my days.
Rest easy, my friend. I'll miss you every single day. But I know you'll be waiting for me on the other side, probably with a stupid joke and that big, loud laugh of yours.
Until we meet again.
Five years. It doesn't sound like a long time to some people, but to me, it was a lifetime. And honestly? It was the best five years of my life.
We met by chance in the online world, but we became family by choice. I don't remember the exact day we became the closest of friends—it just happened. From that very first day, we ended up talking to each other every single day, without fail. One day we were just two people typing on screens, and the next, I couldn't imagine my life without him in it. He became my special close friend, my confidant, and my person. The one I texted first when something good happened, and the only one I wanted to talk to when things fell apart.
Even though the distance kept us apart, he always made his way to me. Every single year since the first year we met, he would travel all the way to Thailand just to see me. Those visits became the anchors of my years. When we were together, I could hear his laugh so clearly. It was loud, a little ridiculous, and completely contagious. He had this way of making everything feel lighter, even when life was heavy. He was the one special close friend who just got me. No explanation needed.
Our very last conversation was on Monday, June 22nd. We were so excited planning our upcoming trip to Phuket and his arrival on November 25th. His last text to me was a peaceful "good night" at 10:21 PM.
Then Tuesday morning came, and for the first time, I couldn't reach him. We always greeted each other every morning and evening, so when my countless calls went unanswered, I completely froze, not knowing what to do. By Wednesday, my anxiety turned into deep dread. Knowing he lived all alone, I desperately searched for any way to reach him until, by some grace, I found his daughter’s email. I messaged her immediately, begging her to check on him since I was so far away.
Days of agonizing silence passed. On Sunday, his sister told me she couldn't reach him either and was asking neighbors to check his house. Then on Monday, his son, Matthew, sent me the news that broke my heart completely—that he was gone.
He taught me so much without even trying. He taught me not to take life too seriously. But most of all, he taught me what it meant to be truly seen and accepted for exactly who I am—flaws and all. He never judged me. He just showed up, time after time, and loved me unconditionally, like family.
There were so many small, ordinary moments that I miss the most. The daily texts, the updates on each other's days, and the inside jokes that no one else would understand. The excitement of counting down the days until his next flight to Thailand. Those little things were actually the biggest things.
Five years wasn't nearly enough. I would have given anything for fifty more. But I've come to realize that you don't measure a special, close friendship by the number of years—you measure it by how deeply you connected, how much you laughed, and how many times you were there for each other when it truly mattered. And by that measure, our friendship was more than most people get in a lifetime.
I don't think I'll ever fully accept that he's gone. But I know he's not really gone, either. He's in every chat history we shared. He's in the memory of every place we visited together in Thailand. He's in every stupid meme I see and want to send him. He's in the silence when I pick up my phone to text him, only to remember I can't.
I am so incredibly grateful—beyond words—for this beautiful friendship we shared. Thank you for giving me such wonderful memories and a bond that I will cherish forever. I will never, ever forget you. Thank you for choosing me as your friend. Thank you for all the laughter, the tears, the daily conversations, and the unconditional support. Thank you for just being you.
You were my special close friend. My anchor. My safe space. And I will carry you with me, in my heart, for the rest of my days.
Rest easy, my friend. I'll miss you every single day. But I know you'll be waiting for me on the other side, probably with a stupid joke and that big, loud laugh of yours.
Until we meet again.
