Where does one start to summarize the whole of a person who was a larger than life figure? There is no way I could do my cousin justice in the amount of space I usually take up each night. He was too much. He was just right. He was a sweetheart. He was a terror. It all depended on circumstances, but no matter what, we all loved him to pieces.
Turnout was good at the wake in his backyard. We were instructed to dress "Hawaiian shirt casual," and to bring lawn chairs. My brother and I got one of those instructions right. (We forgot to bring chairs.) The whole rest of the family was there except my dad and step-mom, who were already traveling when the date was set for this weekend. We got to see relatives we haven't seen in a ridiculously long time. I was so glad to have another chance to hug them all and appreciate them for the fantastic people they are. There is nothing like losing one of the stars of your universe to make people remember to tell everyone who is left how much you love them.
I thought being out in the hot Oklahoma sun was going to be too much for all of us, but thankfully there was plenty of shade to be had and cold drinks available. After a couple hours of socializing organically, my cousin (younger brother of the one we were there to celebrate) invited us to sit in a circle and tell stories that we recall about Ric. It was suggested that the stories be PG, for the young kids who were nearby, but that didn't quite last, once we got going. Funny, nearly every story was harrowing, about when he did something crazy behind the wheel of a car (like falling asleep driving when he and a roommate were moving cross-country), or accidentally firing a gun inside the house (while cleaning), or picking a fight (he was a famous hot-head), or showing off water-skiing and both brothers just about knocked each other out getting tangled up. I should have set the audio recorder on my phone up when we gathered in the circle, but I didn't think of it until now. Heck, I forgot to take pictures of the crowd at all, and had to ask relatives to send me some.
I swore to my one cousin, right before we left, that I'd share the last story he told before my brother and I left to go home. He was telling us about Ric's old Plymouth Fury that he bought in the early 80s, that he fixed up and just loved. He had dropped the very last payment into the mailbox one night, and was driving to meet up with a buddy who figured into several of the earlier tales. Something happened that bottomed out the car, like running off onto the shoulder or something, and it severed the fuel line of the car. He hopped out and saw the grass had caught on fire, and he quickly started stomping it out. He realized that though it was dark, he was casting a shadow. He turned around, and there was the Fury, engulfed in flames. He had just filled the gas tank, and all he could do was just watch it burn. Apparently, bigger than the frustration of losing the car he had literally paid off that day, was the disappointment that it never actually exploded.
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