Grieving Parent

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  • The Camaro Conundrum

    The Camaro Conundrum

    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 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?

  • Happy Birthday Lucas Holt

    Happy Birthday Lucas Holt

    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.

    image of golf balls at gravesite.
    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 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.

  • Observations After a Year

    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.

  • One Year

    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.

  • Mother’s Day

    Mother’s Day

    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.