(From Campbell-Biddlecome Funeral Home)
Rob Wooster was born in Pasadena on September 25, 1959, and passed away in Seneca on October 11, 2026
A private celebration of Rob's life will be held for the family only on Saturday, October 17, 2026, at 11:00 a.m. at Lighthouse Ministries Church, located at 3533 Kentucky Rd, Seneca, MO 64865.
Rob traveled the world, visiting more countries than most people will ever see, and probably offending someone in every one of them. He had a curiosity about people, cultures, and ways of life that were nothing like his own. He avoided tourist spots. He wanted to know how people lived, what they believed, what they ate, and why they did things the way they did.
In one village, he spent time among people whose children gathered enormous termites each morning for their mothers to roast for breakfast. Most people would have booked the next flight home. Rob stuck around, made friends, and left behind extra water purification equipment to help the community.
Of all the places he traveled, Ireland was his favorite. It was his peace, his escape, and the place where he seemed most at home. Planning his next trip there gave him almost as much joy as actually being there.
Rob was not what anyone would describe as a gentle soul. He was opinionated, stubborn, and hilarious. He's the kind of guy who could make you laugh by simultaneously making fun of you. When you called him, you were likely to be greeted with a derogatory name that would be entirely inappropriate to repeat in an obituary. No matter how the conversation began, it always ended the same way. In that unmistakably deep voice, he made sure you knew how much he loved you, at least a few times before hanging up.
His son, John David, was unquestionably the great love of his life. You couldn't talk to him for five minutes without him bringing John or his sweet family up. John was his only child, as far as anyone knows, anyway. Rob would have insisted we include that distinction. For a man who spent so much time wandering the earth, his love for his son was one of the few things that never wandered. With John came his beautiful wife, Courtny, and their two precious daughters, Layla, 8, and Lainey, 4. He was so proud of the family John and Courtny had created
Rob was preceded in death by his parents, Lois and Bud Wooster, and his big sister, Dian, whom he missed terribly. In fact, he missed her enough to dedicate his entire back to a tattoo in her memory.
He also leaves behind his two sisters, Rene' and Paula.
Rene' took care of Rob when Rob couldn't take care of himself. She worried about him, looked after him, tried to keep him healthy, and spent a considerable portion of her life wondering why he insisted on making everything so difficult for himself. He said he was happy that she didn't understand how addiction could do that sometimes. She drove him crazy, and he returned the favor. But when he needed someone, she was there. He loved her, and made sure to say that, even if he was griping that she was treating him like a child.
Then there was Paula, his sweet baby sister.
Rob adored Paula. In fact, she may have been the only person on earth he could talk about without following it with an insult. When he spoke of her, his voice softened in a way that was strange coming from a man like him. She brought out a tenderness that he generally kept pretty well hidden. If you ever wanted proof that Rob had a soft side, you only had to hear him talk about Paula.
Rob also had his share of struggles, and he never once pretended otherwise. Ultimately, that battle contributed to his death. He didn't always get it right, but he knew the importance of trying again. And if his story can convince even one person to keep fighting for another day, he would probably consider that a pretty good use of his obituary.
Beside his Bible sat his well-used copy of Alcoholics Anonymous, filled with handwritten notes.
Among them:
"Perfectly imperfect."
"Not what I did. Not what I'm going to do. It's what I'm doing."
"Every man a teacher. Some teach you what to do. Some teach you what not to do."
And perhaps the most appropriate for a man who spent his life showing up in unfamiliar places:
"We're always newcomers."
He wrote about faith, sobriety, honesty, and the importance of doing the next right thing.
Rob was a complicated man. He could be generous to complete strangers. He could spend hours learning about a topic he found interesting and approximately three seconds deciding someone was an idiot. He was usually right though, if we're honest.
He was flawed, widely traveled, frequently inappropriate, and impossible to replace.
There are people scattered across the world who knew him for a time, talked with him, laughed with him, and may never hear that he's gone.
Those who knew him best will remember the stories, the insults, the adventures, the stubbornness, and the love that was never quite as well hidden as he probably thought.
A few weeks ago Rob said: "If I go first, I'll leave the light on. And if you do, leave the door unlocked."
Well, Rob, you went first. Leave the light on. And try not to insult whoever answers the door.
