Grieving Parent

Category: Grieving

  • Another Stumbling Block

    Another Stumbling Block

    After Richard’s death, one of the items 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 willpower 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.

  • News Events and the Grieving Parent

    News Events and the Grieving Parent

    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 about 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.

    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 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 grief, I will continue to 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 parents, 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

  • The Lost Christmas Eve

    The Lost Christmas Eve

    It may be a long night.

    I’m sitting here listening to the Trans-Siberian Orchestra album called “The Lost Christmas Eve.” I’m on the second repeat so far. There will probably be many more. When I get in these moods, I can listen to the same music over and over for hours.

    The lost Christmas Eve… the lost Christmas spirit. It’s now our life. Christmas has gone away.

    DO ANGELS KEEP THE DREAMS WE SEEK
    WHILE OUR HEARTS LIE BLEEDING?

    I remember Richard’s first Christmas. He was 4 months old. We put him on the floor in front of the Christmas tree. He would light up brighter than the bulbs on the tree, squeal with delight, and try with all his might to wriggle to that tree.

    As he was growing up he liked to crawl up under the tree, lie on his back and just lay there looking up through the branches at the lights.

    Richard always made sure the lights on the tree were plugged in. He wouldn’t let us vary much from our Christmas traditions and rituals. He loved it.

    AND THE TIME AND THE YEARS
    AND THE TEARS AND THE COST
    AND THE HOPES AND THE DREAMS
    OF EACH CHILD THAT IS LOST

    Last year we only turned on the lights a couple of times – when we put up the tree at Thanksgiving and again at Christmas.

    So far this year the tree is still in the box.

    SOMEWHERE IN THE DARK
    BEYOND ALL THE COLD
    THERE IS A CHILD
    THAT’S PART OF MY SOUL

    And now Christmas is lost. It’s buried in an oak box, under a couple of feet of earth. And I don’t know how to find it. And I sit in the wee hours of the morning riding the music, when I should be sleeping.

    THE LURE OF A DREAM
    AND I’M AFRAID TO WALK BACK THROUGH THAT DOOR
    TO FIND THAT I’VE AWAKENED

    I feel guilty because I can’t find Christmas. I still have a beautiful daughter. A great wife. A loving and supportive family. Friends that care.

    GOT TO GET BACK TO A REASON
    GOT TO GET BACK TO A REASON I ONCE KNEW

    And I know Richard has now reached the great promise of Christmas. That same promise tells us we’ll be with him again when the time is right.

    But that’s such a hard thought to hold onto.

  • Another Birthday

    Another Birthday

    Today is Richard’s birthday. He would be/is 24 today.

    This one has been harder than the last. Last year his birthday was just 3 months from his death. In fact, we had just gotten his death certificate a couple of weeks before that. We were still numb. The Novocain of early grief has worn off.

    Richard was the special intention for the 8am mass at church. Debbie doesn’t remember if she set that up or if someone else did, but like all the other “Richard Masses” we went to this one.

    We then went to the cemetery.

    I was planning to do some sprucing up around his grave. Recut the edges and put down new mulch. But there has been very little rain over the last several weeks. The ground was like concrete. I couldn’t get the edger tool more than an inch or so into the ground. So I decided to wait till later – like this fall – when the ground is a bit softer. I put the mulch around my mom’s stone instead.

    We put some balloons by Richard’s grave and watered the flowers that were sagging pretty badly.

    A couple of guys at work share Richard’s birthdate. So I had a birthday cake made with their names on it. I’m taking birthday cake and ice cream with a bunch of toppings to work today. The guys at work might think it’s a celebration for them. One of them is my boss, so I’ll probably be accused of sucking up to the man.

    That’s OK. Richard will know who that cake and ice cream are really for.

    Happy Birthday kid – I miss you.

  • Note To Rush Limbaugh

    Note To Rush Limbaugh

    Dear Rush,

    I was listening to your program this afternoon when you told us about your friends, the Hasara family – the one’s that became a part of this terrible club.

    It was a story that brought a lump to my throat. We’re getting close to the second time we’ve had to celebrate our son Richard’s birthday without him. Birthdays are tough for bereaved parents.

    Like your friends we were very blessed when our son came into our lives. He was a treat – most of the time. He was a Rush baby too. We homeschooled him till he was in high school, and your show was part of the curriculum. I have a lot of books about our founders, American history and conservative politics. Yes, your books are on my shelves. I planned to leave my library to Richard someday – the parts of it he hadn’t swiped from me already. Unfortunately I have my books back now. And I inherited his.

    It’s not supposed to work that way.

    I’m glad the Hasara’s had you to help them in their time of crisis. When your child dies it sends you into a fog. You have all this activity and planning, but you’re in shock at the same time. It’s good to have someone you can depend on to take over some of the details. We went through all the funeral events for Richard. I know we greeted a lot of people, and got a lot of hugs. We even managed a smile here and there. But I have no idea how that happened. It was just something we had to do for our kid. One last thing we could do for him.

    The funeral is just the beginning for the Hasara family. As totally heart-breaking and traumatic as the funeral is, it’s easier than some of the times that will follow. Right now they’re numb. That will wear off.

    So stay in touch with them. Let them know you’re thinking about them. Remember their son’s birthday. And his death day. Those are both tough for a grieving parent. Share in their memories of their son – that’s all they have now.

    We recommend they check out The Compassionate Friends. They’ll find people that know what they’re going through – because they’ve been there too.

    We’ll be praying for them. Give them hugs for us.

    Thanks,

    Joe Mudd

    P.S. I hope you don’t mind that I lifted that picture of you from your website. I don’t have any of my own pictures of you. If you mind, let me know and I’ll remove it right away.

    P.P.S. Did you know that generic drugs aren’t really the same as the name brand drugs they replace? It’s not a good thing to find out from the state medical examiner. Just a little taste of what government run health care will be like.

    Photo album of the Hasara’s on Rush’s Facebook page.