Tonight my cousin Denise lost her daughter Jessica.

It brings back memories of that night two and a half years ago. Debbie and I were sitting on our couch going through every picture of Richard we could find. We sat there crying, hugging and, if you can believe it, laughing as we looked at the images of the smiling face we’d never see again.

Maybe Denise has been doing the same thing. See that playful picture of Jessica above? Denise just posted it to Facebook to let friends and family know about Jessica’s death. She says she likes this picture. And no, that’s not Jessica’s real hair.

I’m sitting here now trying to think of some magic words to say to my sweet cousin. I’m searching for something, anything I can tell her to ease her pain and grief.

But I have no magic words. There are none.

So all I can do right now is pray for her. I hope you’ll help me if you’re a praying person. I believe in the power of prayer, especially prayers said by many people in many places.

Denise has spent many worry filled days and sleepless nights in hospitals and at home nursing her daughter after the brain surgeries she had. She has one last earthly task to do for her little girl. I pray she’ll find the strength to get through taking Jessica to her final resting place. I pray that she’ll make it through the nightmare that never ends and find peace in the coming months and years.

I pray. It’s all I know to do.

After your kid leaves this earth you do a lot of thinking – at least I do. I come up with some pretty crazy ideas too.

A few months before Richard died I was involved in a truck crash. My Toyota pickup truck verses a Big Rig. It ran over me on I-64.

It was the first week of February. That winter had been a bad one for driving. We’d had several ice storms. On that night, as I left work for the 45 mile drive home, the roads were clear.

There are two exits for Frankfort, KY on I-64, five miles apart. In the middle is the Kentucky River. You pass one exit and then descend down a long slow decline, cross the river, then drive up a long slow incline back to the top and then pass the second exit.

This area between the Frankfort exits, across the Kentucky River valley, is a moisture magnet. If there is any rain, snow or ice in the air, it will fall between those exits. I’ve been making near daily trips along this stretch of road for more than three decades now, and it’s always been that way.

So I wasn’t a bit surprised when ice started falling as I began to near Frankfort.

It was light at first, but like always it got worse the closer to Frankfort I got. The surface was soon covered in a slush and ice combo. As I passed the first exit the ice was much worse. I slowed down and shifted into 4-wheel drive mode. Driving down the hill toward the river I could feel the road grow slicker. I wasn’t in a hurry, so I slowed down more. As I got close to the bottom of the hill and the Kentucky River bridge I was probably doing between 30 and 35 miles per hour.

As I concentrated on keeping my truck on the road I remember looking up at the rearview mirror. I saw a tractor trailer truck coming up on me fast. I realized he was going to hit me, and there wasn’t a thing either of us could do at that point to keep it from happening. I don’t remember being really afraid about it, it was just a mental calculation of speed and distance, as the headlights rapidly filled my mirror.

The next thing I remember was looking up at the headliner of my truck. The seat was laid backward, so I was facing the roof. The top half of the steering wheel was bent backwards at a 90 degree angle. I grabbed it and pulled myself upright.

The truck was pointed uphill in what appeared to be a woods. The still running pickup (gotta love those Toyotas) was backed down in between several trees. I couldn’t see any road from where my truck sat. I had no idea how I had gotten there.

I unbuckled my seat belt and got out of the truck. There was some guy coming down the hill and asking, “Are you alright?”

I had a bit of a headache, and there seemed to be a bump on the back of my head, but all parts were still attached and moving when I wanted them to, so I told him I was.

I did consent to an ambulance ride to the hospital to be checked out when the medics arrived.

Many hours later the details were filled in.

The truck driver claimed to be doing 60 miles per hour when he rear-ended me. There was a sliding window in my truck cab, and I knocked the section behind the driver seat out with my head.

Got a concussion and a bit of a cut on the back of my head.

My truck was totalled.

I didn’t even remember the truck coming up on me until a couple of hours after the wreck. Until then I thought it was a single vehicle accident.

Everyone tells me I was lucky to still be alive. And that’s where the crazy thoughts come in…

Maybe I’m not still alive.

Maybe I was killed in the crash and my body is the one buried near my mom at the cemetery, not Richard’s.

I mean really, couldn’t this be hell?

I know we all think of hell as some big sea of fire. The devil prances around above with some nice cold sweet tea, and just laughs at the bad people as they suffer in the flames. That’s the hell the good Sisters of Mercy taught me about back in my Catholic grade school days.

But wouldn’t that be soft time compared to this?

Maybe when you go to hell you think you’re still alive, and the devil makes bad things happen to your family.

That’s one of the crazy thoughts I’ve had since Richard died.

I wasn’t a saint. I didn’t even get close to it. But I don’t think I was so horrible that God couldn’t forgive me and would send me straight to hell. I’m just guessing at his standards here, but I’ve never felt I was that close to the edge.

So maybe I’m not in hell. And that’s where another crazy thought comes in…

Could I have made a deal with the angel of death?

What if I was supposed to die in the crash. But while I was out of it after using my head for a hammer against the rear window, the Grim Reaper offered to let me come back, if I’d offer up one of my beautiful children in my place. Certainly either of them would be a much more valuable catch than me.

I’ve never wanted to die. The thought has always scared the crap out of me. I always liked it here. Sign me up for the immortality juice.

Could I have made a deal? Would I have done something so horrible, just to save myself?

I really love that kid, so I don’t think I would do it. I hope I wouldn’t do it.

I pray I didn’t do it.

So there are just a couple of my crazy thoughts. They are crazy, aren’t they… Or are they? Either of them could have happened. How the heck would I know if they did?

Welcome to the wacky mind of a grieving parent.

Richard was a fan of Jolly Ranchers.

In case you don’t know,  Jolly Ranchers are rectangular blocks of fruit flavored hard candy. Each Jolly Rancher comes individually wrapped in cellophane wrappers.

He had lots of them in his apartment. There were a couple of containers of them on his desk. There was a cup full on an end table. There was also a huge unopened bag of them in one of his kitchen cabinets.

Because of the strong chemicals used to fumigate Richard’s apartment after his death, I tossed out all the candy he had in open containers. I didn’t trust the cellophane wraps that were just twisted closed on the ends to keep the chemical fog away from the candy.

But I was sure the big unopened bag was OK and I brought it home when I cleaned out his apartment.

Over the past two and a half years I’ve eaten Richard’s Jolly Ranchers. I would think of him with each piece. It was like sharing a little bit of his life again.

We also “gave some to Richard” at candy giving times by tossing them on his grave – with the wrappers removed of course.

Today we went to the cemetery and did a bit of Halloween decorating at Richard’s grave. Debbie tossed out some candy for Richard.

In that candy she tossed on his grave was the last of Richard’s Jolly Ranchers. There were two left and she gave them to Richard.

They were his of course, and it’s only right he gets to finish them off. The wrappers were getting hard to peel away from the candy and it was time to do something with them.

But it seems along with the last chunk of the candy he loved and bought with his own money, another piece of my kid is gone.

Yes, that’s pretty silly when you really think about it. But then, having to bury one of your kids is pretty silly too.

Happy Halloween kid, I hope you enjoy the candy.

Today I’m exhausted.

I’ve begun the process of taking care of all my unfinished Richard business. It’s a pretty impressive to-do list. There are just so many little things that need to be done, so many loose ends that need tying.

In the early days after Richard’s death I had a lot of energy to get all the legal and financial things taken care of. I felt like making sure Richard’s money was secured, and his final financial house was in order, was one last thing I could do for my kid. But you can’t just go and transfer funds, and close accounts. You need legal documentation that says you have the right to do those things. That’s a good thing, because we don’t want someone to be able to come in and transfer all our money out of our bank accounts without jumping through a whole bunch of hoops.

But there was a problem. This process all begins with the death certificate. It took three months to get Richard’s death certificate. That’s a long time to wait, and to maintain the desire to force yourself to do emotionally hard tasks.

It also turns out most financial institutions won’t let you access accounts with only a death certificate. You need court orders that give you authority. This of course takes more time.

Richard left behind a checking account, a small mutual fund account, a couple of paychecks, a broke down Camero, and assorted credit card bills.

The credit cards were taken care of as soon as it was legally possible. I had an attorney do that for me. Credit card companies seem to take the news that they won’t be getting any money much better when a lawyer tells them.

It’s the other items, the assets, that I’m struggling with.

They’re like little pieces of him left behind. I know it sounds silly, but closing those items out is sort of like he’s dying all over again. At least a little bit.

He had an automatic draft from his checking account of $50 each month going to his mutual fund. I had to stop that as soon as the death certificate arrived because his checking account balance got too low to make another payment. $50 bucks a month wasn’t much, but it was just an example of Richard’s plans for the future. The future that will never be. But I can still feel his hopes and dreams when I look at his account statements that come to our mail box.

It’s really hard to let go of those pieces of him.  So, I’ve been putting it off.

I’ve been forced to deal with it.

Chase bank has started charging his account a monthly maintenance fee. In a couple of months they have all that’s left in there. I don’t think he’d like that. So I’ve spent the last couple of days dealing with the bank to get his account closed. He had some sort of reward points that I’m having converted to cash. They’re worth nearly $100. It’s taking them a long time to post the funds to his account, so I’m still waiting to close it out.

The emotional stress of such a simple thing as closing a bank account is exhausting.

I still have to transfer his mutual fund into my name. I need to do something with his car that’s rotting in our driveway. And I need to have his two final paychecks, that expired before we could get the death certificate, reissued.

I don’t want to do any of those things. But I guess the time has come.

My aunt Sally died last weekend. Her funeral was today.

The funeral home people provided my uncle and cousins with a nice memorial page that included a slide show of pictures of Sally.

I remember going through pictures of Richard on that night when we found out he was gone. The next day, Sarah, the cousins, and Richard’s girl friend Ivy went through boxes of pictures to pick out the ones to be used on the big montage. There were a lot of funny stories from the girls, and the day after we found out our son was dead, we found ourselves laughing.

I have several pictures of my aunt Sally. I also have a very funny video of her.

We have a family reunion every year at “the farm,” my dad’s home. It’s a big event. Everyone brings food. There’s enough fried chicken for an army, and all manner of side dishes.

One year Sally was carrying a container of biscuits into the kitchen. Several biscuits fell out and landed on the floor. She made a quick look around, and seeing no one, she picked them up and put them back in the container. Unfortunately for Sally, I was in the next room with a video camera and caught the whole thing on tape.

It was a big hit with the family when we played Sally sneaking the spilled biscuits back into the box. She got teased about it for several reunions afterward.

I’m sure her family would like to have that video.

But that would require me to go into that dangerous box. The one with the family videos.

And I’d have to watch those movies to find the one with Sally and her biscuits.

I’m just not that brave yet.

There are so many wonderful memories on those VHS tapes. Archives of happy times. And Richard’s smiling face.

I loved that face, and those smiles. I see them in my mind everyday.

But I can’t watch them on the TV screen.

Those memories are a treasure. They’re also a reminder of the great loss we feel. And that brings such pain.

So I’m not brave enough to open that dangerous box.

Not yet.

Can you watch your old home movies?

It’s now May 23rd… two years from the day Richard died.

Yeah, I know the “official” date is the 28th of May. But that wasn’t when he died, it’s when they found him in his apartment. In my heart I know he died on this day.

We were at the farm that day. I remember sitting on the porch that evening looking up at the stars, and I was thinking of Richard. I looked out into the heavens and thought, “I hope you’re alright.” I had an uneasy feeling. Somehow I knew, though I wouldn’t understand that feeling for several more days.

The intensity of the pain is just breath taking – even two years out.

I miss you kid.

This is one of your mom’s favorite pictures of you, so I put it up here today.

Even with that damned Louisville hat on your head.

Let’s get one thing clear right at the start… that isn’t a picture 0f me.

Most of the images used on this site came from my camera. But not that one. I bought that one. And I’ve never eaten more than half a pie at one time.

Oh, and another thing. Debbie tells me she’s gained weight since Richard’s death too. I’ve never noticed. Nope. She still looks just the same to me. Being the sweet lady she is, I think she was just trying to make me feel better, because….

I’ve gained weight since Richard died.

Since my first days in college at the University of Kentucky, I’ve had trouble staying thin. My meal plan at the cafeteria let me have one helping of the main entre, and as much of everything else as I wanted. They had good french fries. I think I had about ten plates full a day. Loved those fries.

I was also much less involved in sports. Not being on a team anymore, I no longer had a mandated training schedule.

So I got fat.

But a couple of years before Richard died I lost weight. They had a “Greatest Loser” contest at work, and I signed up.

Losing the weight turned out to be pretty easy for me. I just changed the way I ate. What I call, “Eat Less, More Often.” Smaller meals but more of them. Healthy snacks like raw fruit and vegetables.

And I kept the weight off after the contest ended. It was easy. So easy, I gave away all the clothes I had shrunk out of. I wasn’t looking back.

And then the world turned upside down.

Jon Gabriel is author of The Gabriel Method – The Revolutionary Diet-Free Way to Totally Transform Your Body. He’s a really smart guy, and he’s put a great deal of energy and research into finding a way to lose weight. He did it because he was huge, and probably not going to be around long if he didn’t shed some pounds. He lost over 220 pounds. That’s more than I weighed when Richard died.

Gabriel attributes weight gain to mindset, mostly a response to stress.

Having one of your children die causes stress. LOTS of stress.

When I feel stress I like to nibble constantly. I’m always snacking. And when I’m stressed out, I can tell you, I don’t look for carrot sticks. I want something fast and easy. Something salty like chips. Or chocolate. Ice cream is nice too.

I don’t do that so much now. I’ve tried to get back to eating like before. But so far I’m not getting the results I want.

According to Gabriel, when our bodies react to stress, we store fat like crazy. Some primal force within us makes our metabolism slow down, and all the fat storage chemicals ramp up. Weight gain is a really stupid self defense strategy, but it’s what our bodies do.

Most grieving parents probably don’t get a closet full of clothes when they lose their child. I did. I was wearing the same size clothes as Richard, so I inherited all his stuff. I wear  them often. Maybe gaining weight is my hearts way of telling me that it’s just wrong I have those clothes now and not him. Could my body be trying to force me out of his clothes in the hope he’ll come back and claim them?

I’d be glad to eat a whole pie, with a carton of ice cream on top every day if that would work to bring him back.

Our church consists of two separate church buildings connected by a central hall. There is the mid 1800′s era church we now call The Chapel. Our main church, the one where all the Sunday Masses are conducted is on the other side of the hall. We call that one The Church. The Church’s entry doors are located inside the hall.

So everyone leaving church after Mass must go into this central area, that we have given the imaginative name of The Gathering Space.

Parishioners gather in The Gathering Space after Mass to catch up, chat and have a bit of fellowship.

As we moved through the post-Mass crowd the other day we ran into Carolyn Gregory. Her son Andrew was one of Richard’s friends in youth group. About a half dozen of the guys in that high school group became known as The Posse. As you can see we’re big on snappy names in our parish.

As we talked with Carolyn we of course asked about Andrew. Carolyn told us about his progress in school where he is getting close to graduation and the big job search. She mentioned about how they were going to go shopping for a suit for Andrew to wear on his interviews.

Oh Oh. I was expecting Debbie to start crying. I had a lump in my throat.

You see, Richard was getting ready to start his junior year in business college at the University of Kentucky. He was making plans for interviews and internships. He’d asked Debbie to go shopping with him to pick out a new suit for those occasions.

She was looking forward to it a lot. I’m not sure if Richard was more interested in her taste in suits or her use of the check book, but his momma was thrilled with the request.

But that shopping trip never happened.

And our conversation in The Gathering Space served as a reminder of that. And the reason why.

That’s how easy it is to get tripped up on the grieving path.

We both left church with a heavy heart, but neither of us cried. I guess that’s progress.

Photo credit: The image above was borrowed from The Men’s Warehouse website. I hope they don’t mind. If you need a suit or clothing, buy something from them to make it up to them.

After Richard’s death one of the item I had to decide on was about cars.

I was using a 1995 Toyota Camry as my driving to work car. Had 160,000 something miles on it. Richard had a 2004 Toyota Corolla with less than a third of the miles my Camry had.

I needed to figure out which one to keep.

I liked my old Camry. It was comfy and it had cruise control. But the Corolla was much newer and it got better gas mileage, but only by a few MPG’s. And no cruise control.

The very last vision I had of Richard, I was watching out the front door, through the opening in the hedges, as he drove past our house on his way back to Lexington. I never saw him again. So there’s some emotional attachment to the Corolla.

I started driving the Corolla to work. And the Camry just sat in the driveway. I really intended to sell it, but just never mustered the will power to get it done. It was one of many loose ends that are still just dangling out there.

The car sat in the driveway for a year and a half. I almost never drove it.

Out of the blue, people started knocking on our door, wanting to know if the Camry was for sale. It didn’t have a “For Sale” sign in the window and I wasn’t advertising it anywhere. In the space of a week there were 4 people asking about it.

The last was a young girl. She had a 3 month old baby and was pregnant again. I was at work when she showed up with her husband and her dad. Debbie gave her our phone number.

The next morning she called and asked if I would sell her the car.

“I probably would. I haven’t really thought about it much.”

“What do you want for it?” she asked.

“I have no idea what it’s worth. I hadn’t been planning to sell it,” I told her. “What would you give?”

She made me an offer that was what I’d paid for it two years before. In the heated negotiations that followed I managed to talk her down by $500.

So I sold my Camry.

Before turning it over to her, I cleaned out the console and glove box of my stuff. Papers and gloves and ice scrapers and spare change that were floating around the interior.

And that’s where the stumbling block comes in.

In the glove box I found the receipt from the pharmacy for the last prescription I bought for Richard. The one for the generic substitute for his seizure medicine. The one that killed him.

It wasn’t a good find.

Every day I have to remind myself as I get up in the morning that Richard will no longer come walking through the door asking “what’s for dinner, Mother?” As I go through the day I still am haunted by all the questions: the “woulda, coulda, shoulda,” done questions, yes, even after a year and seven and a half months since his death. Some days are worse than others:

This past weekend as I was looking for something to watch on TV my attention was captured by a news alert; the shooting in Arizona. I was shocked as I am sure everyone else was. And as the day progressed I found myself glued to the TV for more information. The devastation brought by the sick mind of this young man just broke my heart again. Then when we were told of the death of the youngest, 9 year old Christina, I found myself thinking of those first days and hours after Richard was found dead and I just wanted to grab her parents and hold on. I know what they are going through, the fog that surrounds them, the pain they’re suffering; its overwhelming.

Then last night “Wednesday” I had thought to watch the “memorial” service being held for those killed. I was again heart broken as I saw what should have been a respectful, thoughtful, prayerful memorial turned into an absolute mockery! It seemed more like a circus or pep-rally complete with the t-shirt souvenirs. I turned to some old reruns instead. I don’t know if any of Christina’s family was there, but I do know if it had been my son they were using for this outrageous gathering I would have walked out!!! I would have been absolutely insulted to have the death of my son used in such a disrespectful way as I saw happening last night.

I felt just as angry about this so called memorial as I was when I heard the “Westboro Baptist” group was going to be there to protest at this child’s funeral.

Today (Thursday) there were two funerals I concerned my thoughts for; the one for Christina in Arizona, 9 years old, and the other just down the road in Frankfort for a high school junior, Trista, killed Saturday in a car accident. My thoughts are for the families of these children who died too soon, as our own precious Richard did. My heart aches for their families, for their pain knowing their lives will be forever changed. They too will wake in the mornings and have to remember their precious child will no longer walk into the kitchen to ask, “what’s for dinner, Mother”.

I thank God for the time we had with our son. He was such a joy, I will miss him always and I guess as I experience this journey through greif, I will continue suffer the “woulda, coulda, shoulda” questions even though I know it doesn’t matter, he’s gone. Richard is with God now, of that I am absolutely positive. I just wish, as do all those other mothers, we could have had him for a while longer….but it still wouldn’t be enough when they die too soon.

Photo Credit:

Christina Taylor Green
http://www.kpho.com/image/26414686/detail.html