Suddenly Me with Richard's No. 1 Print

Two days ago, I received delivery of the most bitter-sweet item, the Zenyatta print by the amazing artist, Lauren Wood, that Richard had been excitedly anticipating, and even mentioned again the day before he died.  And this was not just any print.  It is No. 1 of 300.  That’s right, No. 1.

Richard had been talking about and showing me Lauren’s art for the past couple of years.  He deeply admired and respected Lauren’s family and would have claimed her as his own.  He would text me pictures of her work each time he saw something new, and even brought home a brochure of her work to show me.  Lauren is the daughter of jockey agent, Mike Wood, and wife, Jean Wood, long-time friends of Richard’s.  Lauren and her brother, Aaron (Bubba), were raised around race tracks across the country, including Omaha, Nebraska, Hot Springs, Arkansas, and here at Remington Park.  They are the most amazing family - good, kind, intelligent and quiet but witty people - everything that you could ever hope for in friends.  And as kind and polite as they are, they still loved the “rude, crude and socially unacceptable” Richard.  

Lauren is essentially a self-trained (aka “just plain naturally talented”) artist that does the most beautiful art in charcoal, specializing in equine art (although her other works are equally impressive).  In 2010, she unveiled a beautiful charcoal original of Zenyatta.  She’s only 23 (and even younger when it was released), and Richard and I were both amazed by the amount of talent coming from such a young artist when we saw it.  You would think by her work that she’s been doing this for decades.

A few months ago, Lauren announced that her Zenyatta original would be published as a limited edition print, with only 300 to be released.  When Richard heard this, he of course approached her about getting “his” print.  And one thing is certain about Richard - if he couldn’t bargain it out of you, he would GUILT it out of you.  And it made no difference that you had absolutely nothing to feel guilty about, he would make something up.  There was no shame.  And that’s exactly what he did to Lauren.

And so the STORY goes:

Richard was home one weekend, and he tells me that he’ll be getting a Zenyatta print from Lauren.  Then he proceeds to tell me that not only will he be getting a print, he’ll be getting No. 1 of 300.  I ask him how in the world he was getting the No. 1 print, and he says, “Well, she tried to give me No. 10 or something, but I told her that I wanted No. 1.”  He then tells me how she said the No. 1 print and the first few would probably go to family.  His response: “What do you mean, family, I AM family, I’ve known you since you were a baby, and I’m your biggest faaaan.”  Somehow, and I will never truly understand, he was able to talk/guilt her out of  that No. 1 print.  He, of course, was so proud of himself in doing so, and I must admit, the fact that he was able to get No. 1 was almost as impressive as him bringing home the original as both seemed equally impossible.

Although I knew it was coming and happy to be getting it, it was hard to receive after he died.  He had just talked about it the day before, and it just so happened that Lauren’s Dad was picking it up from the frame shop on the day he died.  He heard the news just as he had left the shop.  They were devastated by the news of his death as well - and they had, after all, just lost Lauren’s “biggest fan.” ;)

I love it and will cherish it always, it’s just so painful that it isn’t him hanging it up on the wall with pride, bragging again about how he had the No. 1 print and pointing at the number in the bottom corner, making sure that I really saw it.  I’m sure he would have immediately taken a picture on his phone and sent it to his brother, mom and the girls.  Missing out on his joy in actually getting it is so hard.  I will hang it with pride for him, and I’ll always have a wonderful story to tell about how he “landed it,” but it just won’t be the same.

And now it’s suddenly me with Richard’s No. 1 Print.

PS - Go to Lauren’s page on Facebook, “Fine Art in Charcoal by Lauren A. Wood,” (http://www.facebook.com/lawsartllc), “LIKE” her page, then leave her a message that you were sent by her BIGGEST FAN - Richard McNaughton.

Suddenly Me driving Richard's Lincoln MKZ

If you knew Richard (it’s so strange and painful to put that in the past tense), you know that he loved to bargain.  It really didn’t matter if it was a small garage or estate sale purchase (which he loved), or a large purchase such as a vehicle, he always loved whatever it was even more if he felt like he had talked down the price or had some “extras” thrown in.  I don’t actually think that he ever purchased a vehicle that was brand new, as there was less opportunity to “beat them” on the price, and most of his vehicle purchases were made paying cash after a “good day” at the race track, but they were always “new” to him.  And no matter what anyone else thought of it, he thought he had made a great deal on a nice ride.  There are pictures of all of the vehicles he purchased.  


When I met him, he was driving a teal green Chevy C/K 1500 Sportside pickup, with running boards and a hydraulic lift bed cover.  It was decked out inside and out, but when I first saw it in the race track parking lot, I thought for sure it belonged to a girl.  I laughed at it, and he said, “Whaaaaaaaat?  This is a SWEET ride.”  I’m not sure any other grown man could have pulled it off.  His daughters, Carly and Kari, called it the “Green Taco,” because they thought it looked like a pickup that more affluent Hispanic teenagers in their hometown drove to high school.  But— he loved it, and he got “a great deal on it,” and that was that.


With Richard’s job, he put a lot of miles on vehicles, so about every three to four years, a vehicle was worn out.  Several months ago, his vehicle started having problems requiring expensive repairs, but the car was paid for, so he made them.  Then one day in April, after he had left home to head back to Dallas, he calls....


And the story goes – and if you know Richard well – there’s always a “story,” and the amount of truth in each story varied dramatically, making them all the more interesting.  Anyway - according to Richard - he just so happened to be driving down the highway when his car all of the sudden started making a “bad noise,” and he didn’t think it was going to make it much further.  AND, it also just so happened that when his car started making this bad noise, he was right by a Cadillac dealership in Norman, and he was calling to ask me if I thought he should pull into the dealership and see if he could trade his car in.  I was surprised he was calling for permission, all the more reason to doubt at least SOME of the details.


Thirty minutes later (or even less), he calls asking me to look up the value of a used Lincoln MKZ.  He sends me pictures of it from his phone, and I knew immediately that he would be leaving in it.  It looked like it was a special order just for him - a jet black sedan with windows tinted as dark as the paint.  It wasn’t me at all, but it was definitely him.  Two hours later, he’s driving it off the lot towards Dallas.  It was the only car on the lot that he looked at.  When he called me from it, he had of course in his eyes made the “deal of the century.”  He was so proud of his new ride.  


When he came home in it the next weekend, he had already washed it twice, and I could tell by the look on his face that he loved this car.  He started talking about how “sweet” it was and how he had to name it.  I laughed and told him it looked just like him - a pimp mobile for the [jockey] pimp, so I called it the “Pimpmobile.”  He sometimes called it “Zenyatta” after the beautiful famous Thorougbred race horse, very fitting, and sometimes called it the “Black Ghost.”  I never really understood that name, and never could get an explanation.  He was going to have Zenyatta in some version put on the license plate, but the other jockey agents talked to him about “Pimpin’ Ain’t Easy” on the plate.  After he died, we found the license plate application filled out, it had “PMPN8EZ.”  It hadn’t been mailed off yet.   


It really was perfect for him, and it continuously fed his ego.  I was absolutely shocked at the number of strangers in restaurant and other parking lots that would comment about his car.  It’s a 2007 Lincoln MKZ, and I’m pretty sure it doesn’t have all of the bells and whistles that many Lincolns have, but for some reason, any time he got out of the car in public, you would have thought it was a brand new Lamborghini.  I’ve never seen anything like it.  And, of course, his strut would get a little bit bigger each time someone would comment about it.  His strut was something between “Joe Cool Snoopy” (shades and all) and Rodney Dangerfield.  There was no denying he was strutting, all the while pulling on the collar and shoulder of his shirt because his chest was all of the sudden getting too big for his shirt.  And no matter how irritated or aggravated I might have been with him about something, I could not help but smile and laugh when he began to strut.  


For the first month or even longer, I wasn’t allowed to drive it.  And, since we had moved the large fridge to the garage, no longer allowing two cars to be parked inside, my car was immediately kicked out of the garage.  When I finally was allowed to drive it, there was a long list of instructions - don’t hit a curb, park it at the end of the parking lot away from any other cars, don’t close the doors too hard, watch when you’re backing out, don’t get it dirty, no food or drink in it, and make sure you stop and wash it before you come back....  By the time I heard all of the instructions, I really had no desire to drive it.  Besides, I kept telling him that with the black paint and those black-tinted windows, I was afraid of getting car-jacked and shot in the Pimpmobile!


On the morning Richard died, he drove us to the airport in his treasured car.  It was raining, and storms were coming in, so when he returned home, he parked the car back in the garage, even though I think he and Macy were planning on going out to the track a little bit later.  One of the very first questions Macy asked me that night when I got in and told her that her Daddy wasn’t able to be saved, she asked, “What about Daddy’s car?”  She wanted to know if we could keep his car because he loved it so much, and because he did, she did, too.  His daughter, Carly, and his brother, Bart, both indicated they want to buy the car if I have to sell it.  It was clear to everyone that he loved this car, and we all want to keep it in the family.  


The night after he died, Macy and her cousin, Caylin, went out to his car to listen to music.  When she turned the key, the car was dead.  Really, Richard, you had to have your car die with you????  It’s safe in the garage, so let’s keep it that way??!!    


My neighbors came over this past Sunday and were able to get jumper cables to it, and it turned out to only be a dead battery.  They  charged it up and it was fine.  I guess for all of the love Richard had for it, it just decided to rest a while in his honor.


Sunday evening was the first day Macy and I were able to drive it.  We drove around the neighborhood a few times to charge up the battery.  I’ve driven a SUV for over ten years now, so driving a sedan will take some time to get used to.  I have a feeling I’ll be getting lots of looks in this car in the future, too, but more for how awkward I look getting out of a Pimpmobile.  There was just something about him getting out of the car that made it look so cool. 


The good news is, it is a nice car.  The bad news is, it isn’t paid for, and with Richard being the gambler that he was and also hating the insurance industry, he not surprisingly decided not to take out the credit life insurance policy on it.  Having just purchased the vehicle, this is one time he would have actually “beat the system.”  I’m sure he’d be so mad at himself now for losing that bet, for so many reasons.


His love for a wager on everything in life is one of the things that I loved about him and made him so fun to be around.  But today that has now become a large burden upon me as we were not prepared in any way for his death to a heart attack or whatever “natural cause” it was that took him from us.  And now I’m left to raise Macy in every aspect on my own.  Yes, I have wonderful family and friends to help, but ultimately, the responsibility is all mine.  I know he would have never wanted that.  


Shortly after Macy was born, I bought a little guardian angel pin that I gave him to travel with.  With all of the miles he drove and his maniacal driving habits, I just knew that some day I would lose him on the road.  We actually had accidental life insurance because I truly believed that was the largest possibility for ever losing him premature to old age.  I semi-jokingly told him then that we had a daughter to raise together, and that I couldn’t lose him on the road like that until at least Macy was grown.  That guardian angel pin was tacked to the roof of his car above him in three different consecutive cars, including the Lincoln, and it watched over him and kept him safe for nine years thereafter on the road.  


It never crossed my mind that I needed a guardian angel to pin to his shirt right above his heart.  


And now, it’s suddenly me, driving Richard’s Lincoln MKZ.  I think I'll leave the license plate as is.  I can only imagine the look on the police officer's or trooper's face when the window comes down after being pulled over in the Pimpmobile with "Pimpin' Ain't Easy" on the tag......  

Suddenly Me on my 39th Birthday

Nine days ago, on August 11, 2011, I turned 39 years old.  I wasn't excited.  I'd gained weight over this past year and was struggling with what to do with my life professionally, and my self-esteem could not have been much lower, but turning 39 sure wasn't helping. I'd even had what I had thought at the time to be the "birthday blues" on the day before, this overwhelming sense of dread and sadness about the next day.    

I was supposed to be flying out the next day to Minneapolis, Minnesota, then driving to Rochester for a wedding of my girlfriend's friend.  Newly single, Nichole invited me to tag along and make it girls' weekend, and I was excited about catching up with her and having time away from home and what was left of my career as an attorney - another reason why I wasn't excited about turning 39.    

I married my husband, Richard, in 1999, and in 2002, our daughter, Macy, was born.  The upcoming trip had me very concerned the day before, but I was oh, so wrong about why.  It had been years since I had gone anywhere without either Richard or Macy or both.  In my own vanity, I guess, I had this sense of dread about flying off and being so far away, thinking that something was going to happen to me, and wondering what would Richard and Macy do without me.  I didn't voice this to Richard, only that I had a sense of dread about the next day.  He, of course, thought I was nuts.

I stayed up the entire night before, as did Macy, and by the time it was time to go to the airport, I was excited again about the prospect of a few days away.  Nichole came to my house, and Richard and Macy drove us to the airport.  The mood was light, and Richard commented on how he wished he could go with us, that he had many friends in Minnesota and liked it there, and I told him I wish he was, too.  I remember a fleeting thought that I really did wish he was coming along.  He's the type of guy that can fit into any situation, even a girls' weekend, without changing what it was meant to be, and he wouldn't have complained - well, if you know him - he would have complained about EVERYTHING, but only jokingly.

He drops us off, gets our luggage out for us, and gives both Nichole and I a hug goodbye.  I hug and kiss my daughter, and walk over to my husband.  In his own loving/smart ass way, in a goofy voice, he says, "Happy f------ birthday," and gives me a quick kiss - can't be having any major PDA in front of the airport.  I laughed and said, "I love you."      

Nichole and I boarded the first plane, landed, had about an hour between flights, then were about to re-board.  Macy texts me at 12:42 p.m. after having just woke up from falling asleep on the couch after getting back home from the airport.  She and Richard had come home, he made them hot chocolate, then they watched a show together in the family room.  After about an hour and having been up all night, she fell asleep and didn't awake until she started texting me.  She wanted to go to White Water with her friends and wanted me to text her Dad and ask him.  I told her she needed to work it out with him and to go talk to him.  After getting on the plane, she texts me again that she can't find him, so I tell her he's probably outside and to call his phone.  I also tell her that the phones are about to be cut off because the plane was about to take off.  About 40 minutes later, we are able to turn on our phones again in the air, and my phone is lit up with missed texts and a phone message from Macy.  I only see the texts from Macy at first.  I had only had my phone off for about 3-5 minutes when Macy texts me that she has found Richard in the bathroom on the floor and that he won't move.  The texts become more panicked as they go along.  My heart sinks as I'm texting her back to call 911 and asking her if she was serious, hoping this was a terrible, terrible joke that she and her Dad have played on me.  

It was no joke.  As we approached Minneapolis and were preparing to land, I call his cell phone and a co-worker of mine answers, we're then cut off, but in my heart I knew.  There was no other reason for my co-worker to be at my home answering my husband's cell phone.  Immediately upon landing, before I'm off the plane, I call my mom, I ask if he's alive, and she has to tell me he is gone.  In a matter of moments, my world has collapsed around me.  I'm in an airport in Minneapolis, hundreds of miles from home, unable to protect or comfort my daughter, with the knowledge that I wasn't there when my love collapsed and died in our home, and that my daughter had to find him, alone and terrified.  

For 3 hours, Nichole and I waited in a conference room at the airport with the sound of a cheap clock ticking on the wall, waiting to fly back home.  I then see the phone message from Macy from earlier when I was in flight, and decided that I should listen so I would know what she went through and would be more prepared when I saw her.  I could feel the desperation in the sound of her voice, and it cut my like nothing ever before.

My husband died, and I wasn't there.  My daughter found him, and I wasn't there.  All of the feelings of sadness and dread from the day before suddenly made sense.  Except in my own vanity, I was fearful of how my husband and daughter would go on without me, thinking something horrible was going to happen to me.  It never crossed my mind that this strong, invincible man that took care of us wasn't in fact invincible.    

Instead, I'm here wondering today how I and my daughter go on without him.  This wonderful, loving, adventurous man that gave everything of himself for his family is gone, and I must face the fact that suddenly, it's just me.  

This past year, I haven't liked myself very much, or at least I haven't been happy with the way my professional life has turned out, which I guess I have internalized as me being a failure personally.  I feel a lot of guilt for the wife that I wasn't, for adding stress to my husband when he had too many plates to balance as it was, and I'm not sure I'll ever forgive myself for all of the woulda, coulda, shoulda things that never happened because of my own insecurities and being more worried about myself than him.

It's going to be a long road ahead, and somewhere I have to find a way within myself to pick myself up and move forward for the sake of my daughter.  

But, today, I just miss my Hunny Bunny.

My husband died on my 39th birthday, and now it's suddenly me......