It’s been there for over a year now.

Sitting right on my computer desk.

One of the things I brought home from Richard’s apartment was that microcassette recorder pictured above. There were several cassettes, all looking new and unused.

I finally popped them into the recorder and hit play.

They were mostly blank.

But on one was Richard’s voice, “Testing one, two, three, foor, five…” Yes he was thorough.

It was nice to hear his voice again, like it sounded just 14 months ago. I wish there had been more.

We have many videos of the kids. I haven’t developed the courage yet to watch them. But I think they were all from a time when he was young, still just a child. As he reached the teens and young adulthood he didn’t cooperate much with the movie thing.

So this cassette may be the only recording of his adult voice.

I’d like to hear the real thing, live.

But maybe it’s better than nothing.

We have another Richard brick.

There’s a nice little park located in Frankfort, KY called Cove Spring Park. Way off in the back corner, tucked into the trees is a beautiful memorial garden sponsored by The Compassionate Friends of Frankfort, KY. At the center of the garden is a raised round flower bed, with a statue in the middle. Paver brick surround the flower bed.

Many of those bricks have names. And dates. One has Richard’s name and his time on earth.

Sunday they held a brick laying ceremony and a balloon release. There are now more than 100 memorial bricks in that garden. The number of  tears those bricks represent is uncountable.

After the balloons disappeared from view we enjoyed a potluck style picnic.

It was nice spending time, enjoying life, laughing and eating with others in TCF. People from all walks of life and different stages in the grief journey, that have become brothers and sisters because of a bond we never wanted to share.

Click the thumbnail pictures below to see larger images.

We went on a short vacation last week.  I‘m not a big fan of traveling, but I think it helped.

Staying busy is a good thing. It helps you stay out of that dark hole grieving parents can sink into so quickly. But it seems to help more if it’s something out of the ordinary.

I can stay busy mowing the grass or something routine like that. But I can do that on autopilot, so my mind still can think about how much I miss Richard. Doing something different keeps my brain occupied.

We went to Mount Vernon during the beginning of our trip. I’ve always wanted to see it. Washington was our greatest leader.

I visited him at his tomb. I had a talk with him – a silent talk – I didn’t want all those other people around me to think I was nuts.

I asked him how he and Martha handled it, loosing a child. It was much more common back then. I’m sure it wasn’t any easier though. Yet he and others like him did handle it. And they started a new nation.

Maybe that was their secret. Starting a country would have to keep you pretty darn busy.

I like the Abraham Lincoln quote in the picture above.

In many ways it describes Richard’s time here on earth. He had a lot of life in those short years. We have a big montage of him. There are many pictures of him doing things, trying new stuff.  There are so many more similar pictures that didn’t make it onto the montage – we were limited to 30 or so images.

He lived.

And he enjoyed the living. I know that’s true because he smiled most of the time. Even when things got tough, he’d get this little grin on his face and plod onward.

Our task as grieving parents is to start living again.

I always admired Richard’s ability to keep his head up when faced with strong adversity. He never faced an adversity like what we face now. But I’m determined to remember his example and live up to it. I keep picturing that impish grin in my mind and plod onward.

If you want the picture above (it makes a good wallpaper for your computer desktop) here is a link to a 1600px X 1200px version you can save to your computer.

Lincoln quote wallpaper 274K

And here is an even larger version, 2560px X 1600px suitable for printing.

Lincoln quote printable 504K

It just never seems to be easy.

There is a 1997 Camaro sitting in our driveway. It’s been there for several years now. It doesn’t run.

This was Richard’s car.

I bought it for him from the cousin of a coworker of mine while Richard was still in high school. It looks pretty good and he was rather proud of it. It only has a V-6 engine so I felt safe he wouldn’t be in too many races with it.

The deal was I’d pay half the cost and he’d pay for half. I bought it and he didn’t have to make good on his half until he finished school. He did give me $1000 he had saved, so he had some skin in the deal.

He never was all that mechanical. Never showed much interest in turning wrenches.

The car overheated on him. Several times I think. In the end the head gaskets blew, and the AAA tow truck delivered it to the spot in the driveway where it still sits today.

Replacing the head gaskets is a high dollar repair – unless you do it yourself. Richard had no interest in doing it himself. Not having a garage to work in made it a no-go for me too.

But Richard said he wanted to fix it someday. So the car stayed in the drive.

Recently we had some repair work done to the electric range in our kitchen. The repair tech was a chatty sort. As he was leaving, he mentioned the Camaro. He used to have several like it. I told him about the condition of ours and asked if he wanted to buy it. I gave him a pretty low price. He seemed excited about it.

We talked about it for awhile longer and he said he wanted it. He hoped to come back that next weekend with a trailer to haul it away.

That’s the last I heard from him. That was about 2 months ago.

We had a yard sale this past weekend.  I thought it would be a good idea to add the car to the items for sale.

We were talking about posting ads for some of the big items on Craigslist. When the subject of the car came up Debbie laughed and said she’d never forget Richard’s response when he thought I was going to sell his car one time before.

I was home one morning and heard a knock on the front door.

The man on my front porch said, ” I was wondering if the Camaro is for sale.”

“I don’t know. It’s my son’s. He’s away at school. Leave your number and I’ll ask him about it. I’ll call you if he wants to get rid of it.”

Well he was home a few days later and Debbie gave him the phone number and the news about the man wanting to buy his broke down car.

He grabbed a piece of paper and a Sharpie. He wrote, “NOT FOR SALE” on the page in big black letters, stormed out of the house and taped his sign to the inside of the windshield and locked the doors.

He told his mom he was going to get that car fixed someday.

As I listened to the story and remembered the event I felt a wave of guilt sweep over me. I had almost sold Richard Camaro.

Now I try to be logical about things.

I don’t really care much about that car. I didn’t like driving it. It’s too low to the ground for my aging bones and from the driver’s seat the windshield seems like it stretches out for 10 feet in front of the car.

I don’t want to do the work on it myself. It costs way more than the car’s worth to have it done by someone else.

If you remove the emotions from the decision, the choice is clear. Sell the car. Get it out of the driveway. I don’t want it, and Richard won’t be getting it fixed.

But there’s no way to remove the emotions.

It was Richard’s car and he wanted to keep it. And that makes the pile of junk in the drive have a lot of emotional baggage.

So now the Camaro is no longer for sale.

Why does this stuff have to be so hard?

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 great smile and he knew how to use it. I really miss that smile.

Here is a birthday present someone left you.

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 loose 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.

We’ve made it through our first year as grieving parents. I thought I’d post a few observations.

• Even after a year I still can’t believe this is real. I’m still waiting to wake up and the nightmare to end.
• I’ve only seen Richard in one dream. I would have expected to see him many times over the span of a year. But there has been just the one time. That one time was the most intense dream I’ve ever had. Maybe because I think about him all the time when I’m awake my brain needs a break and refuses to dream about him too.
• We’ve been told the second year is harder than the first. Is that possible? Not looking forward to that.
• I’ve heard a lot of bereaved parents talk about the comfort they get visiting their child’s grave. I don’t feel comfort there. I feel sadness. But I still go because… that’s my kid.
• Having a dead kid makes you do strange stuff. Like planting strawberries at your child’s grave.
• When you’re in a room full of grieving parents the power of the sorrow is so strong it’s like a force field that just grabs you. You can physically feel it’s power.
• Finding a proper image to begin each of these blog posts is often a pain. I may go image free.
• When I talk to Richard at the cemetery, my most frequent statement is, “I just can’t believe we – you and I – let this happen to you. This just shouldn’t have happened kid.” He’s probably tired of hearing it by now.
• Bereaved parent support groups really like butterfly images.
• Early on I sometime had the feeling – a sense – that Richard was nearby. I don’t get that feeling anymore.
• Having your child die is nothing like having your mother die, even though I miss them both a lot.
• My clothes are much tighter now than a year ago. I guess grief is fattening.
• I know there are videos in our house of Richard growing up. I haven’t found the courage to dig them out and watch them. I may never have that much courage.
• Most of Richard’s stuff is still here.  I’d like to get rid of the the U of L stuff but Debbie won’t let me.

We’ve completed our “year of firsts.”

We had several days to remember.

Mother’s day was the anniversary of the last time we saw Richard. It was a tough day.

May 22nd was the last time anyone in the family talked to him. Debbie called him that Friday evening about his plans for the weekend. She was checking to see if he would be home for our family celebration of his cousin Hannah’s graduation from college. He had to work.

I’m sure he died on May 23rd. No one saw him or heard from him from that day on. I’m certain that as he began to wake up that morning he went into siezures. He never knew what was happening. At least I hope he didn’t.

May 28th last year we got that awful call from the coronor. And we had to tell Sarah her little brother was dead – on her birthday.

So we had a lot of days to remember.

Like there would be any way we could ever forget.

Yesterday was Mother’s Day. A hard day for all bereaved moms.

It was Debbie’s first Mother’s Day with Richard gone. It came with all the pain of no longer having him there to tell her “Happy Mother’s Day”, of not getting another goofy card from her kid and from just knowing he is gone.

But it is also a tough day for both of us because on Mother’s Day one year ago, we saw Richard for the last time.

He worked on Saturday night, as a waiter at Logan’s Steak House. He drove to our house after he got off work, arriving in the early morning hours, so he could visit his mom on Mother’s Day.  He went to church with us and got to stay for just a short time after, as he had to work that afternoon.

We told him goodbye and watched him leave for Lexington. That was the very last time we laid eyes on him. We never saw Richard again.

So we knew it would be a stressful day.

How did we handle it?

We decided to run away – sort of.

Debbie still has a hard time making it through church without tears. She remembers seeing Richard at mass every week, usually standing in the back  and getting “volunteered” to help the ushers. The sermons on Mother’s Day often revolve around motherhood type themes. There is also a recognition of the moms at the service, usually they are asked to stand and all us non-moms clap for them. We knew this would be an emotional land mine for her.

So we didn’t go to church Sunday. Sorry God – please forgive us.

We went to Cracker Barrel for breakfast. But we didn’t go to our local Cracker Barrel in Shelbyville. We drove to Louisville to eat.

After returning home and changing clothes we went to Kroger and bought some stuff for supper and some flowers – tulips – to take to the cemetery.

We put tulips at my mom’s grave and at Richard’s.

We also cleaned the bird poop off Richard’s headstone and did a few plantings at his grave.

The plan was to go home, fix dinner on the grill and watch some movies together.

We just wanted to stay away from everyone and spent the day together.

That was the plan.

Then I got a call from my dad. He said the tomato plants were already too tall and I needed to come over and get them before the rain came in tonight.  My dad is the tomato plant supplier for all of our family.

So I went to the farm and got tomato plants. I brought them home.

Debbie and I then spent a good portion of the remaining day light planting tomatoes. We put in 25 plants.

Then we fixed our ribeye’s on the grill.

It was a nice day in a sad sort of way.

Richard and I were often told how much we were alike. I’m sure that didn’t bother me near as much as it did him. But it was true. In fact, I came to think of him as the new improved version of me.

One example of the apple not falling far from the tree – Cutco.

Back in the caveman era when I was attending the University of Kentucky I saw an ad in the Lexington paper offering a flexible good paying job to college kids. To find out more you had to attend a meeting at a local hotel. I went to the meeting.

Turns out the “job” was being a salesman for Cutco Cutlery.

Cutco makes kitchen knives and gadgets. They’re really great products. They’re also very expensive. They’re the kind of knives your kids will fight over when you pass on.

One of Cutco’s marketing models it having college kids sell their products. The salesperson went to the prospects house and gave a presentation. When it came time to talk price they always wanted you to quote the price on a weekly basis. They setup payment plans. The full price for a set of knives and kitchen accessories would cause sticker shock.

If you got good at selling knives they promised to move you up to the waterless cookware division where the money was better.

I signed up to be a salesman.

I have no idea why I did that. I was very shy. Going out and talking to strangers about expensive knives was way out of my comfort zone. The demonstrator set I bought was the only set I sold.

Imagine my surprise when Richard came home and asked us to buy some knives from him. Yep, he had signed up to sell Cutco.

He was much better at than I was.

The first step they teach is to make a list of all your relatives, friends, and acquaintances. This is your “warm market” – people that know you and will be more likely to listen to your presentation.

Richard did as instructed. He gave a lot of presentations. He sold something to just about everyone he talked to. He sold to the parents of his friends, his teachers, and people from church. I don’t think he hit the family members too much.

We would get reports back from people we know that bought knives from him. They were amazed at his professionalism. He was well known for his rather “casual” style of dress. He wore shorts and a t-shirt to church, even in the worst of winter cold. Having him show up in dress clothes and a tie was a shock for them.

This was one of his jobs during a summer break from college. I don’t think he ever sold a full set, but he sold something to just about everyone.

Seems like he got about a 10% commission. So spending an hour to sell someone a $70 knife didn’t make him rich. He did end up with a full set of knives and several kitchen gadgets – many of them prizes for high sells.

I was proud of him for overcoming his shyness and doing a hard job well.