Dear Lucas,
We’ve never met. But I’ve thought of you often during the past year. Just wanted to send you a quick note to wish you a happy birthday.
I’m Richard’s dad. I’m sure you two have met by now. He’s got the plot just up the hill from you. I visit him often. While checking out his neighbors – beside his grandmother who is right behind him up the hill there (she’s my mom) – I couldn’t help but notice you.
Isn’t it wild that you and Richard were almost exactly the same age when you died? Right at 3 months short of being 24 years old.
What did people call you? Lucas? Luc? Maybe you went by your middle name, Graham? If you were Graham did anyone shorten it and just call you Ham? Sorry, I have a weird sense of humor. Having my kid die hasn’t improved it, I’m afraid.
I have no idea what brought you here to Grove Hill Cemetery. Were you sick? Have a wreck? Were you like so many, and decided life was too tough and ended it yourself? Did someone do something horrible to you?
I’ve thought of calling your parents to ask about you. Maybe they could give me some pointers on dealing with this awful loss that we share. Just haven’t screwed up the courage for that yet. But someday.
I can tell by the picture of you etched into your headstone that you had a pleasant smile. Richard had a glorious smile, and he knew how to use it. I really miss that smile.
I can also see you were into golf. They attached one of your golf clubs and your hat to your monument. That’s kinda neat.
Someone left you some new golf balls for your birthday. Don’t know if you need them, you probably never lose one when you play up there.
Richard liked golf too. We still have his golf clubs upstairs.
He’d probably play a few rounds with you. Maybe you’ve already played. Probably so.
Anyhow, happy birthday.
I know your parents are missing you today. I know they’re missing you everyday, but today the volume on that is amplified a lot. I’ll say a prayer for them.
I hope you enjoy the flowers I left for you. It still seems sort of strange giving flowers to a guy. But everything seems strange these days, so what the hell.
Best wishes,
Joe Mudd
P.S. When you see Richard again, tell him to call home. I’ve got questions. Thanks.
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