Free His Name Is Ron by Kim Goldman Page B

lessons of life, and gratitude for the years gone by. How could there be a Father’s Day card to fit this empty, sad, grief-stricken reality? I was immobilized. I didn’t know what to do.”
    She finally settled on the card that she would give me. Then she found one that she felt Ron would have chosen. She bought them both.
    â€œShock does funny things to you,” she said later. “A part of me was convinced that Ron would thank me for buying the card and sign it himself. A part of me knew that was insane.”
    Later, at home, she signed her card. Then she wrote Ron’s name on theone she had selected for him. She had only three letters to scrawl, but it seemed to take forever.
    Shortly after we had moved to Los Angeles, Ron and Kim had bought us a lemon tree as a wedding present. We planted it in the backyard.
    For seven years it had never bloomed.
    This year it did.

SEVEN

    Four of us—Patti, Kim, Lauren, and I—drove to 11663 Gorham, in Brentwood. Michael could not bring himself to come along. He had been there before during happy times. He did not want to walk into apartment #3 ever again.
    We felt very strange being there, and purposely left the door ajar.
    Ron’s dark slacks and white shirt, the clothes he had worn during his last evening of work, were still hanging on the bedroom door. Kim and I put them on hangers.
    The work “uniform” of simple black slacks and a plain white shirt was perfect for Ron; he was color-blind. On mornings long ago, back in Chicago, when Ron was ready to head off for high school, he sometimes appeared dressed in what Kim called “the most godawful combinations.” She would shake her head and command, “Ron, go back upstairs,” and then tell him what shirt and sweater would go well with a particular pair of pants. Ron always took the razzing with a good-natured grin.
    We made arrangements with the landlady to leave the water bed and a few other things, because none of us felt up to moving large pieces of furniture. Patti spotted a few pop-open water-bottle caps. She carries water with her constantly; she quietly slipped them into her pocket. Working quickly, we shoved everything into cardboard boxes, crying as we packed up kitchen utensils, clothes, and all the minutiae of Ron’s existence.
    There were a thousand little details to attend to, small fragments ofRon left dangling in the wind. We found a dry cleaner’s receipt and realized that we would have to stop there to see if Ron had left clothes to pick up. His checkbook reminded us that we had to close out his account.
    Lauren mentioned to Kim that she would like to have a baseball cap that Ron had worn frequently. It had a “Stüssy” logo on it, and it evoked many memories. Lauren had owned two Stüssy caps, and it had become a long-running prank for Ron to swipe them. Lauren used to pretend to be mad at him, but he knew that she was not, and the mock confrontations often ended in tickling sessions. Finally Ron had bought one of his own, and now Lauren wanted to keep it. She would always picture Ron wearing it in the style of the day, with the brim turned to the back.
    Little decisions became monumental. Do we wash the clothes in the laundry basket or pack them the way they are? Kim finally decided that washing them would be like washing away a part of Ron. She could not bear that. She took his down comforter, noticing that it too was soiled, and had a small rip that needed to be sewn. However, she folded it gently and placed it in one of the boxes.
    I spotted one of those big, plastic coin cups such as slot machine junkies use in the Las Vegas casinos. It was full of change, probably tips from Mezzaluna. There was also about $60 in cash. I knew that Ron owed Kim some money, so I tried to get her to take it. It was an irrational, emotional gesture and although Kim understood my intentions, she recoiled. There was no way that she could take any of