The tragic death of Richard Nelson … ‘You have your role model. Honor him’
The woman sobbed deeply, her head resting on an arm that leaned against a back wall, because in those times our grief is as indescribable as it is profound there isn’t a soul among us who doesn’t need some level of support.
Peter Neri on Sunday stood in front of those mourning a life taken far too soon, and the pastor began his remarks at Paradise Seventh-day Adventist Church by saying everyone had come to make sense of it all.
That’s not possible, of course, not when a lifetime of memories that should have been created will never exist, and a young man’s limitless future is replaced with a blue casket in which he now rests.
Richard Nelson was 18 when murdered outside his Las Vegas home Jan. 14, trying to protect his sister from a fight. He was pushing others off her when one male backed up, pulled a gun and shot Nelson several times.
He was making sure someone he loved was safe, and paid for it with his life.
“He was a great kid,” Nelson’s father, Richard, told the congregation Sunday through tears and broken words. “I miss him. I wish I could change that night. … I do.”
As they lined the middle aisle and slowly proceeded through a passageway of unfathomable sadness, the chance to take one last look at their beloved friend before the top of the casket was lowered for good, to perhaps say a prayer and touch him one final time, it was impossible not to wonder what was rushing through so many young minds.
This was the harshest of reminders that while life isn’t fair, neither is death when calling someone so young.
Those coaches who spoke were directly linked to Nelson’s athletic prowess, whether as a three-sport standout at Chaparral High or freshman running back at Missouri State, those who implored young friends and teammates gathered to live as Richard did, to lead with humility and aspire for greatness, to set goals and achieve them, to always use him as a reference for that which is kind and courageous and loyal.
“You have your role model,” one coach said. “Honor him.”
It was absolutely heartbreaking, every word, every syllable of every last story.
We sent our eldest, a month older than Richard, off to college this year back East, and never have I believed something as I do the idea that love might mean letting go when all you want to do is hold on tighter. You yearn for the next phone call and become an authority on all things FaceTime. You constantly wonder where he is and what he is doing. You hold that Christmas break hug at the airport longer than any previous one.
You let go, call him back and hug more.
It’s impossible to understand the level of misery Roxanne Bruce felt as she held her dying son in her arms, his body riddled with bullets, one night before he was supposed to return to school in Springfield, Missouri, before they were supposed to enjoy one or several of those Christmas break hugs.
I watched my parents, both now gone, for decades deal with the death of my 7-year old sister.
They never really recover.
They’re never really whole again.
They never really stop staring off into the distance at the most unpredictable times.
So it is through tragedy we were able to learn about a remarkable young man and the countless number of people he touched, his mother in writing a life sketch for the funeral describing him as a curious little boy, a gentle soul who hated conflict but who watched over his siblings.
His brother, in a poem, telling Richard he is balled up inside screaming and crying, that he was his biggest star, that he now feels like a blind man wishing to see the other side, wishing to see his face just once more.
When it came time for Missouri State head football coach Dave Steckel to speak, he defined what his program refers to as “Bear Up,” a slogan based on the team’s nickname and defined by things like encouragement and support and courage and resolve and work ethic.
“From the short time we had Richard,” said an emotional Steckel, “he was the epitome of ‘Bear Up.’ ”
The video played for nearly an hour as friends and family lined the middle aisle and proceeded slowly through that passageway of unfathomable sadness, a soft piano melody accompanying snapshots of Richard Nelson’s life.
There were pictures of him as a toddler, with his mother at high school graduation, the day he signed a national letter-of-intent and realized his dream of earning a Division I scholarship, the night he received the 2016 Courage Award at the Review-Journal’s Best of Nevada Preps awards banquet, and so many of him wearing his No. 20 jersey in various sports.
And in each, he was smiling the most wonderful smile.
Richard’s favorite Bible verse was Jeremiah, 29:11: “For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope …”
His was a limitless future cut far too short, but he lived in a manner that should give all of us the hope to be better in every way. He has found that peace.
There is no making sense of this, but that doesn’t mean that in Richard Nelson’s death, we can’t discover an incredible example of how to live.
Contact columnist Ed Graney at egraney@reviewjournal.com or 702-383-4618. He can be a heard on “Seat and Ed” on Fox Sports 1340 from 2 to 4 p.m. Monday through Friday. Follow @edgraney on Twitter.