Randy’s last year

The last year of Randy’s life was a rough one. He had quit drinking alcohol but was taking lots of pills trying to stabilize his emotions, with little success. He quit his job at an insurance company in Sarasota (they wanted him to go into rehab and accept a demotion and he would not). He got behind in his house payments and his savings started dwindling quickly. He had two major auto accidents: in the first one he drove into a palm tree at 60 mph as he tried to open the Paxil he had just gotten from his doctor. He walked away with a sore hand. The second time he flew off 275 and through the railing when he had an epileptic seizure…we think because of a combination of drugs he was taking under a doctor’s supervision to ward off depression. He went home that night.

During this time, paranoia set in big time. Randy thought the police were following him, after him, ready to arrest him at every moment. It was sad to see. He stopped driving all together after the second accident because they took his license away. He spent his time watching TV, mostly the history and nature channels. Visiting became difficult because he was always talking paranoid talk about who was after him.

Randy was offered lots of help. I made arrangements for him to go to Sanoviv Health Institute but he refused. His father checked into rehab facilities closer to where he lived, but Randy refused all treatment. He did not want to go to AA or get any kind of help. I finally realized it was his life and I had to sit back and let him do with it as he pleased. His sister tried to get an intervention going but she could not get the right people involved. In the end, we did nothing but wait.

On Monday morning, June 18, 2007 Randy called me. “Mom, I need to come talk with you,” he said with a strained voice. I agreed to drive down immediately and get him; he wanted to come up to my house. We had the best time. We laughed, talked about old times, ate good food, walked Rhino and talked a little about what was going on in his life. He was vague at times but nothing led me to believe that he was at the end of his rope. He talked about how he started to drink at 14 years of age because that’s when he discovered that alcohol could take his sadness, dreariness, depression away. From then on, alcohol became his friend (a hereditary trend I am afraid—my mom and dad were alcoholics). He talked about how he had tried to beat it again and again without success.

He chose to sleep overnight, which was very unusual for Randy. But we had a great dinner, talked late into the evening and then he went to sleep. In the morning we went for breakfast and talked more about selling his house and how he was doing with his new business, wall murals. In the afternoon he announced it was time for me to take him home. I said, “Okay, Randy, I will, but first you are going to meet with my therapist. You told me I should have intervened years ago. Well I’m doing so now.” He looked at me a moment, looked away, and then said, “Okay, Mom, I’ll go.”

When he came out an hour later he was all excited. He knew what he had to do to get his life together and he was eager to start. I drove him home on Tuesday and didn’t hear from him the rest of the week.

It was 7:30 Sunday morning, June 24, 2007 when I got the phone call from Carl, Randy’s Dad. Randy had gone to dinner at his Dad’s house and was staying the night because his house was all packed up for realtors to show to prospective buyers. When I picked the phone up I heard Carl say in a distressed voice, “Cleo, Randy is in a coma. I heard something in the living room but didn’t realize it was him. He went to the kitchen and got some water and then passed out on the floor in the living room. The ambulance is on the way.”

I was shocked but calm. My daughter and two granddaughters had just arrived the day before and I didn’t want to alarm them. I left a note saying a friend needed me and drove straight to the hospital in Sarasota. On the way my mind was full of plans, “This time he will go into rehab; this time we will do an intervention if necessary. This time…” I was ready to make Randy well again.

When I got to the hospital and walked to the front desk to ask about Randy Laco, the woman looked at me, hesitated and then said I should wait in the small room on the side. I got a tight feeling in my stomach then because I knew those little rooms are saved for really bad events. Just then Carl came in and we are talking a little in the room when the doctor walks in. He is a large man in a white coat with a tired look on his face. He said, “I am so sorry. We did all we could but your son is dead.”

Dead? I looked at him in disbelief. Then I started hitting this poor doctor on his back as hard as I could yelling, “You are lying, bring him back! Now, Right this instant you bring my son back.” The doctor was patient, but as he gently held my arms he repeated, “I’m sorry but your son is dead.”

As my mind reeled I asked, “Can I see him?” Yes, they said, I could see him until they took his body to the medical examiner. As I walked into the small room and saw Randy, all 6’4” of him, laying out in his favorite dress shirt and jeans I noticed immediately that he had gotten a haircut. At this point we thought he had had a heart attack so all my grief was simply over my loss. Randy was a good son to me and we had shared a good many years together, going on without him seemed unreal. He had always been my birthday, Christmas and Easter surprise, bringing food and gifts, laughter and joy. What would I do now?

It is strange that even when you know it is final, you just can’t seem to get it. I kept thinking he would open his eyes and say, “Hi, Mom.” I kept hoping I would see his chest move. Carl joined me and together we said our jumbled thoughts to Randy, full of pain, rage and sadness.

In a total fog, I drove Carl up to my house and when my daughter and granddaughters were not there, I quickly drove down to the beach. The girls were playing in the water. Lise came up immediately. I told her very simply that Randy was gone. We didn’t know what had happened, but he was dead. Lisa’s shock mirrored my own and she went quickly back to the house to be with her Dad. I sat in the water with the girls and though I tried not to show anything, they knew something was up. They finally asked me if something had happened to Uncle Randy. I hesitated. Then Rachel said, “Grandma, all we want is for you to tell us the truth.”

Oh. Yes. I had to tell them the truth so I did. Very gently I told them that Uncle Randy was gone. They wanted to know how (they were 9 at the time) and I told them I simply did not know.

The next day I called the Medical Examiner. She was very kind and straightforward with me. She said that from their preliminary exam Randy had taken close to 200 aspirin. “One hundred is enough to kill you,” she added. I was incredulous. What? He killed himself? Can’t be true. Not true. Wrong information. Someone screwed up. But no, the woman assured me. There is no question he took the aspirin. There is no question he killed himself. His stomach had a large mound of white powder in it.

When I called Carl he told me he had found a suicide note (which is available to read under Randy’s Writings). But it was Randy’s brother Gary who typed up a copy for me and e.mailed it (I never got to see Randy’s original note…Carl burned it in his distress).

Days ran into nights into days and my mind kept crying out, “But why Randy?” There are no answers of course. But this much I can say. Randy has been with me more in his death than he could be in his life at the end. The first time I found this out was at Sanoviv Health Institute, a place I have gone many times to enhance my health. Within three months of Randy’s death, I was in deep trouble emotionally. So I made a reservation to go to Sanoviv for two weeks…I needed help.

The first day I got there I went to meditation. Twenty of us were laying on the floor bundled up as the therapist said, “Okay, close your eyes and go out over the Ocean and find an island.” As soon as he said those words, I found my island. As I landed and felt the water on my ankle, I looked up and there was Randy walking towards me in his dress shirt and jeans with his arm locked in his best friend’s arm…God.

Together they walked up to me, surrounded me with their arms and gave me a group hug. Then Randy stood back, took both my shoulders in his hands and said, “Mom, you can talk to me any time you want!” I felt healed. When I felt a tap on my back, I came back to the room and realized I had been sobbing for some time. Everyone had left the room and I had heard nothing. Nothing except Randy’s words that is.

About this time my best friend, Joyce Brown, died of lung cancer. I was devastated again but sort of had to put my mourning for her on hold because I was so wrapped up in grief over Randy. Knowing I would never hear him laugh again could send me in tears. Time passed, however, and healing does take place. Then my friend Joyce’s daughter came to visit me a year later and she told me a story that changed everything forever.

Randy and the quarters
A year after Joyce had passed, her daughter, Sandy, came to visit me. She said right away, “Cleo, Mom and I talked about after she died that she would let me know she was around. Well, it’s been a year and no sign. So I finally said to her one day, ‘Ma, I want some proof you are around. Send me some dimes.’”

Sandy then forgot all about it until the dimes started appearing…in strange places at strange times of the day. She told her pessimistic husband about the dimes and he started finding dimes. Now she’s told me.

That night as I walked my dog, Rhino, I was just going over the small bridge near my house when I saw something shiny in the road. I reached for it but it was just some foil off a cigarette box and then I saw the dime…about four inches away just waiting for me to find it! My first dime. Over about a month period, I found ten more dimes (now remember folks, I have not had dimes in my life at all up to this point!).

Finally one day I say to Randy in the air, “Hey Randy, I don’t want pennies, nickels or dimes. I want quarters!” That night as I walk around town I was just passing in front of the fire station when I saw a glint in the gutter of the entry where the trucks come in. Sure enough, it was my first quarter. The second fell in my hand as I was cleaning my nightgown drawer out. Then one appeared by some grass in someone’s yard. And they kept coming…12 in all. One day as I put my freshly made clay pot out to dry in the sun, a friend helped me put it in the driveway. When I went back a half hour later, there beside my bowl was a $1 bill folded in quarters! Honest. Even my friend was amazed.

Two nights later I am walking Rhino and I find a $20 bill folded in quarters! I said, “Hey Randy, is that your grand finale?” and I guess it was cause I haven’t found a penny since, I mean a quarter since.

However, six months later Chip Farnsworth, an old friend of Randy’s, calls me. He had just found out about Randy passing and was quite upset. We talked on the phone for an hour or so and just towards the end I said, “Well, someday I’ll tell you my story about Randy and quarters.”

“Randy and quarters?” he said. “I have many stories to tell about Randy and quarters,” he volunteered. Seems Randy had several games he played with quarters when he was hanging out with his friends and I must have just picked this up.

My refrigerator is now covered with dimes and quarters and my heart is happy knowing that my friend Joyce and son Randy are both looking after me.