His Name Is Ron (8 page)

The service was delayed for about ten minutes as everyone waited for Sharon to make her appearance. Finally someone told me that she was sitting in the front row, across the aisle from us. I did not recognize her, and we did not speak.

The rabbi spoke and offered prayers.

Then Ron's best friend, Mike Pincus, made a beautiful speech. “Where do I begin?” he asked.

Well, Ron and I met 19 years ago in Buffalo Grove. We were the best of friends although Ron was the best of friends with a lot of people. He was the class clown and we were always getting in trouble. I blamed it on him and he blamed it on me. I must say that growing up with Ron was a dream come true…. Ron and I were inseparable—we went everywhere together…. We often went to Ed Debevic's for burgers and to dance on the table. There isn't a better dancer around—Ron had the moves.

Ron and I grew up in the 70s and 80s but we loved the music of the 50s. If you can all remember for a minute a song written by Dion: “The Wanderer.” It is about having different
people around you all the time and roaming from town to town. That song was Ron and me.

Mike recalled that what he and Ron did best was to shop for clothes:

One day Ron and I found the most obnoxious looking jacket you could ever imagine. We had to have it but there was only one so we decided to share it. We brought it home and Ron's dad looked at it and said,
“No way!”
But we wore it anyway.

The friends were separated when our family moved to California, but Mike recalled:

In May of 1989 Ron said, “Let's be together forever. Get your butt out here and live with me.” I was the straitlaced kid from Chicago and of course said no way. Needless to say, Ron talked me into it and I packed everything up and drove to California by myself. I unloaded the car and we went to Gladstone's for the 4th of July fireworks. From that day on, life began all over again. We were finally together forever.

A few years earlier Ron had introduced Mike to a lovely young woman named Lisa. Two years later Mike and Lisa were married and were now expecting their first child. Mike's voice cracked as he said:

I think the hardest part of all this is that Ron won't be able to see my baby in three months. He would have made a great Uncle Ron.

On June 13th my life with Ron was over. We were separated one last time. I will miss him more than he will ever know. A part of Ron still lives inside me. I will always love you and one day we will dance again—forever.

Lauren was crying so hard that she could not hear the words. It was difficult for her to believe that Ron was actually inside the casket in front of us.

Kim spoke next:

Ron, my dear, sweet, innocent Ron. Not in my worst nightmare did I imagine that I would be standing here in front of
Dad, Patti, and the kids and all our family and friends, expressing how much I will miss you. I don't want to be, but I wanted you to know how much I love you and what you mean to me.

From the bottom of my heart, you were my hero. You were my protector, my support, my laughter, my drive to be the best. You are my best friend. I don't know, Ron, that we could ever explain to anyone the close bond we shared. I can't even explain it. I can only feel it. We will have that closeness forever.

No matter what, it was always you and I standing together, through all of the bad and the good. To be honest, I wouldn't change the negative for anything because that just made us a stronger team.

You and Dad were such a pair. You both bombarded me with so much love, so protective of me and making sure I was safe and happy and loved. Dad raised a beautiful young man. He raised you to be strong and honest and caring and loving. The two of you took on quite a challenge to raise a little girl on your own and I want to thank you, because I would not be half the woman I am now if it were not for you.

Ron, I admire everything about you, your magnetic personality always amazed me. The way you were with kids and other people delighted me. I don't know if I ever told you, but I am so proud of the man you have become. I am honored to be a part of your life. You touched so many people in your young life and they are here today to give you some of that back.

Ron, your kind and gentle soul is a gift that we now all share and will be a part of our lives forever. Thank you for giving us your gift.

I cherish you and all our wonderful memories. Wherever you are now, I hope you can feel all the love in this room. It is all because of who you are!

I loved that you were so protective even though at the time I may not have appreciated or realized your intentions, but as I got older I knew it was only because you loved me so much.

Ron, I want to thank you for being my rock and my anchor when things were tough for us. You always held your head high and managed to find something positive to make the bad things go away. In a weird way I'm grateful for the troubles we had growing up. I think that if it did not happen we would not be this close. Dad did an excellent job raising you to be so strong
and so good hearted and enabling you to share that with me. We made an excellent threesome!

Ron, you developed into such a beautiful person. You had such energy and zest. I admire your strength and desire to go on when things got bad and always making out like a champ. You have a good soul and wherever you are now, I want to say I love you and I am very proud of you.

I also want to say that both dad and I knew what a great person you were. However, we had no idea to what extent. You led a full life and touched many people and influenced them all. And that shows here today. I hope that wherever you are you realize how much people loved, admired, and respected you.

For everyone that is here today, I can't tell you enough how honored my family and I am to have such support and love from all of you. You know, this is a very tough time for everybody but if Ron were to tell us anything, he'd say, “It will be okay. We'll get through it. Tomorrow's another day. Be strong.”

I know this sounds crazy to say but please don't ever let Ron leave your memories. Please keep him close to your hearts, because you are close to his.

Ron, thank you for being my brother, my best friend. I love you with every fiber that I have. Wherever you are, please put your arms around yourself and squeeze because I am giving you a hug and I need one too! Ronny, I love you.

It was my turn. But I was stunned, overwhelmed by Kim's words and my own grief. I felt paralyzed. Kim read the message that I had hand-printed onto a single sheet of paper:

Ron,

My love. My son.

I've adored you since the day you were born. I have been proud of you and who you had become. You touched deeply every one whom you met.

A good, kind, considerate person always there for others.

I will miss being with you—but you will be in my heart and thoughts every day.

God will watch over you.

Some day we will hug and kiss again.

Love, Dad

I was upset that I was unable to say these words myself, and disappointed that I had not written more. I hoped that somehow I could make it up to Ron.

After the chapel had cleared, we were asked if we would like a few additional minutes to say our last goodbyes.

The casket had remained closed during the service, but they opened it for us now. Kim plucked a few roses from one of the flower arrangements and placed them on Ron's chest, but she wanted to give him something more. She took the notes from her speech and mine and laid them carefully at Ron's side. Then she leaned down, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “Goodbye.”

I heard someone crying, whispering, “Ronny, Ronny …” Then I realized that it was me.

We had planned to ask Ron's friends from Brentwood, Jeff Keller and Mike Davis, to be pallbearers. Neither of them showed up for the funeral, so we had to quickly designate two others. Rob Duben walked in front. Michael and Brian, along with Jeff Tierstein, Pete Argyris, Mike Pincus, and John Baskett carried the coffin, and Jim Ziegler walked behind. Long afterward, I would swear that I had helped them carry the casket, but I did not.

The walk to the grave site was surreal. I was engulfed in a fog of pain, mixed with an eerie floating sensation. I kept mumbling, “You're not supposed to bury your kids. It should be me. It should be me.”

I was amazed to see the gently sloping hill behind the grave site covered with hundreds of people who had been unable to fit into the tiny chapel. I saw a blur of faces—young people—people whom Ron had touched in the seven years he had lived in California.

Tears streamed down Michael's face as he forced his legs to keep moving up the hill, staring at the hole in the ground where Ron would be buried. In his mind he saw Ron serving a tennis ball, running on the beach, dancing with Grandma at Lauren's Bat Mitzvah.

Brian, Michael, and Lauren were crying inconsolably.

Kim stared straight ahead and saw her friend Jana Robertson in the crowd. She began to focus on Jana's weeping face.

The rabbi spoke, but Kim could not listen. She just focused on Jana.

We were handed black mourning ribbons. Kim just focused on Jana.

She thought: I'm five years old again. I don't understand what death is. I don't understand any of this.

Patti, Kim, and I held in our fists a portion of the dirt that had been dug from the grave site. We were to sprinkle it on top of the casket as it was lowered into the ground.

Kim clenched the grains of soil in her hand, refusing to let them go. I took her hand in mine and tried to shake the dirt free, but she still would not release it. Finally, her fist opened and she let it go.

The earth was ready to receive her brother, but Kim was not ready to let him go. As the casket was lowered, Kim thought she saw it slip and feared that it would fall. She lunged forward and hung over the side of the grave, her arms stretched, grasping toward her brother. She just wanted to be close to him, to make him safe. She felt my arms, pulling at her.

The pallbearers quietly filed by and dropped their white carnations into the open grave. As Michael approached, he saw Kim on her knees, lunging for the coffin, as if she wanted to join her brother in eternity. He saw a part of Kim disappear that day, and he doubted that it would ever return.

SIX

After the funeral, Michael drove Brian and his dad back to their room at the Radisson Hotel.

Brian wanted to drive, but Michael insisted. He thought: For days I've felt my life spinning out of control. I've lost my brother. I've carried his casket. I've seen my family in the worst kind of pain imaginable and there is nothing I can do about it. I just need to be in control of something, even if it is only the wheel of my car.

What seemed like hundreds of people filled our house.

While I was cold and dead inside, Patti, as always, was there for everyone else. She struggled with her obvious pain, but still managed to be available for each of us. I will never understand her strength, but I knew then, perhaps more than ever, just how much I loved her.

Kim continued to cry. Well-meaning words of comfort did nothing for her. She and Ron had often talked about family and religion. Ron believed in God, whereas Kim was always filled with doubts, questions, and skepticism. Although Ron did not keep kosher, or attend services regularly, he enjoyed the traditions of our Jewish faith. They held a special meaning for him. Kim analyzed. Ron accepted. Now Kim thought: I am not an existential person. If I am here, sitting in this chair, that is exactly where I am. Don't tell me I'm floating in some third dimension somewhere. I saw my
brother in that casket, and I saw that casket go into the ground, and that's where Ron is.

Jeff Keller and Mike Davis, whom we had not seen at the funeral, now stopped by to pay their respects. They were accompanied by another young man from Brentwood, who drew Kim aside and said, in a cryptic tone, “I'm not like that. I'm not like the rest of them.” Kim had no idea what he was talking about.

As we watched the taped coverage of Nicole Simpson's funeral, which was held at about the same time as Ron's, we were surprised to see Jeff and Mike there. Why had they gone to Nicole's funeral when they were supposedly Ron's friends?

Others from Brentwood seemed more caring. Andrea Scott, a young woman Ron had been dating, came to the house to pay her respects and asked if she might have a moment alone with Kim. Kim was sitting in the living room, crying. Andrea reached into her pocket and pulled out a ring. “I think Ron would want you to have this,” she said, handing the ring to Kim.

The ring had three intertwined circles. Andrea told Kim that when Ron had given it to her he had told her that one circle represented their first date, the second, their engagement, and the third, their wedding.

“I know he was only kidding around,” Andrea confided, “but I thought his comments were so endearing—I just want you to have this.”

Kim was touched beyond measure. She placed the ring on her finger, silently changing the meaning of the three intertwined circles to represent Ron, Dad, and Kim—always connected and bound to each other.