Kelly King

Like the song says, “Only the Good Die Young.”  But, Richard wasn’t just good, he was the Best.  He was the man.

It is an honor for me to be standing here, and I realize many of you were just as close to him as I was.  I hope my words today will do justice by you all, his good friends.

There are many reasons why Richard stood out.  As you all know, he was exceptional in all his endeavors.  He was always going at full throttle, working towards a goal.  He always had a purpose, and he always seemed to raise the bar just a little bit higher.

Four months ago, Richard and Charlene came down for my father’s funeral.  Ironically, Richard’s 40^th birthday was the next day, so I got to tease him one last time about being born on the day of the “Great Disappointment”.  I believe I said that was the saddest day I had ever been through, the day we buried my father.  But, today is just as hard, after all, Rich was like family.  He was like a brother, and he was so young.

A disease that came like a thief in the night has stolen something from us more precious than can ever be measured.  Truly, an inconsolable loss.  To say we are heart broken, well, that just doesn’t even come close. 

But, Rich wouldn’t want us to be sad for too long.  Instead, he would want us to celebrate his life and reminisce about all the good times we had with him.

As you know, he had a legendary sense of humor.  Nobody could make me laugh harder than Rich.  He had an uncanny ability to come up with hilarious phrases, nicknames, and jokes at the spur of the moment. 

Here are a few:

"Zeta, Zeta, Sweet potata"
"Who floated the air biscuit? "

All the guys here know what it means, but they are scared to admit it.

Here’s one for Al, Jim and Rod:

"I’m just a pheasant welfare recipient."

Here’s one for Mark and Pete:

“I’m just a Forrest Gump with a stethoscope.”
“Poison Boy” - a nick name given to a certain growly doctor.
Rich suggested I introduce myself to my patients like this: “Hi, Dr. King at your cervix.”

For sure, he could always make you laugh.

Another thing I’ll always remember and treasure, are the memories of our many trips.  From fishing in Mexico to Elk hunting in Montana.  Rodney and Ed, remember the Montana trip?  Out of the four of us, we didn’t get a single elk, but it was so much fun just being there, all of us together.  I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.  Remember how the three of you brother got into an argument at the dinner table about who had been the most spoiled as a child?  Three grown doctors, arguing about who got the most stuff when you were kids.  Believe me, it was hilarious.  I still laugh about it. 

Above all, my most cherished memories of Rich were our yearly pheasant hunting trips to South Dakota to see Rodney and Dale.  At first, the trip was all about how many birds you got or didn’t get as the case may be.  Then, it evolved into something very special.  More than just a hunting trip.  It became a yearly ritual, solely for the purpose of having fun with friends, to laugh with them and enjoy the ultimate in male bonding.  The hunting part of it almost became an excuse for us to get together and act like fools.  We could escape the everyday pressures of life and work for one week a year.  It was absolute pure enjoyment and some of the best times of my life.

This yearly trip to South Dakota, this tradition, is now going 10 years strong.  I hope it will continue for decades, even generations.  However, it will never be the same without Rich.  He got sick three weeks after our last trip.  How can it be that my hunting buddy is gone?

We will never again walk through the grassy prairies or watch in amazement as the dogs work the birds.  No more group pictures at the end of the day with those gorgeous South Dakota sunsets in the background.  It’s just so hard to believe he is gone.

At my dad’s funeral, Richard told me he really liked the poem in the ceremony program.  He said it reminded him of my Dad.  Well, it also reminds me of Rich, and I believe it is how he would want us to remember him. 

When I come to the end of the road
and the sun has set for me
I want no rites in a gloom filled room
Why cry for a soul set free.

Miss me a little, but not too long
and not with your head bowed low
remember the love that we once shared
miss me, but let me go.

For this is the journey we all must take
and each must go alone
it’s all a part of the master’s plan
a step on the road to home.

So when you are alone and sick of heart
go to the family we know and
bury your sorrows in doing good deeds
Miss me.  But let me go.

In January, the doctors in San Francisco confirmed the diagnosis.  We went to visit him that weekend.  He was barely able to talk.  I sat on the edge of his bed, and I asked him, “What can I do for you, Rich?  How can I help you?”  His reply was soft but very clear, “Make sure my family will be ok.  Make sure they will be taken care of.”  So, I made a promise to my friend, and I speak for all of Rich’s friends when I say to you, Charlene, you can never ask too much of us, we will always be here for you.  After all, Richard would have moved heaven and earth to help us if the tables were turned.