I lost my son, Jesse, one month ago today in a car
accident. I have tried to write a post
about him several times but find I can’t put words to the many feelings I have
yet to sort through. I am overwhelmed with gratitude that he was my son, that I
had him with me for 29 years. I
am so sorry for the struggles he faced, yet I am in awe at the amazing man he
became, tender, loving, creative, resourceful, brilliant, kind, helpful,
gentle, funny… I ache with the loss I feel, yet I find such joy in the many
happy memories I have of him, of being with him. I will share those from time
to time. For now, I will let his brother’s
eulogy paint a picture of him.
A Tribute to the
Life of Jesse George Ricks
Given by Elijah Ricks
Brothers and Sisters, family and friends, thank you for
coming today to join my family and me in the celebration of Jesse’s life. We
have been overwhelmed since last Monday by your thoughtful condolences, kind
gifts, and fond memories of Jesse.
It is now my task and privilege to share with you my little
brother, Jesse George Ricks.
Jesse was the third of six children. The eldest three
of us were all born 2 years apart in the same month:
November. Jesse George was named after two of his great-grandfathers whose names
coincidentally mean “wealthy” and “amasses a fortune”, which may have something
to do with why he was so thrifty. We discovered a king’s ransom in loose change
scattered throughout his room this week, adding some credibility to the names.
When Jesse joined our family, Nate and I had pretty much established our
territory, and had Mom and Dad trained to do our bidding, so Jesse’s arrival
naturally caused some stir. We had been growing tired of pounding on each
other, though, so were anxious for some fresh meat. Unfortunately, Jesse never
really had much meat on him. I’m not sure he ever made it above 135. In fact,
just recently he told our mother that he might need to switch down to 2% milk,
probably because he could no longer count his ribs by sight.
Jesse came home from the hospital and then abruptly returned
with a diagnosis of pneumonia. But Jesse was never one to be defeated by
adversity, and he certainly was not going to let a little thing like inflamed
lungs hold him back from life. If you know the details of his accident, you can
see that that was true up to the end. As a baby, he bounced back from the
illness and returned home with an attitude. As a young boy, Jesse had the smile
of an angel, the cunning of a fox, and the patience of a crocodile. My parents
often relate the time we lived in Omaha, when a missionary brand new to the
field unwittingly got a tad too close to little Jesse, and received a swift
boot to the shin for his mistake. We laugh at that story now, but you’ve got to
give him credit; that elder never got within range of Jesse’s boots again.One
might hope this was an isolated incident, but a young woman in the ward who had
witnessed it disclosed to my parents that Jesse had done the same thing to
her weeks earlier.
Jesse always had a little bit of fire inside of him. We have
home video of Jesse just a little while out of his shin-kicking phase, where
our mother caught him just after waking up one morning. Jesse sees our mother
approaching him, shoots her the deadliest look a 6-year-old can give, and
screams, “MOOOOM! I gotta pee. And put that away!”
Luckily for all of us, Jesse was able to direct this fire
inside of him to more productive and humorous outlets later in life. I’m not
sure if he ever actually implicated himself on this one, but a little bird told
me that more than once during his high school years somebody set off a
harmless, but effective stink bomb inside the school. Perhaps not coincidentally,
the stink bombs were always found in an area Jesse had just passed through, but
ended clear of. My brother-in-law who is just a little younger than Jesse, tells
us fondly that he would ride with Jesse off campus to lunch sometimes when they
were in high school together, and that, by some mechanical “oddity”, the tiny
spray nozzle on his car from whence the windshield wiper fluid was sprayed had
been redirected so that it did not actually spray the windshield. In another
strange coincidence, Jesse just never remembered this about his car, and yet
always noticed a smudge on the windshield just as he drove by some pedestrian.
Jesse loved a good laugh, and even more enjoyed getting other people to laugh.
Before we had enough space for six children, we kids often
shared a room. I haven’t done the math, but as near as I can tell, Jesse and I
shared a room longer than any of the other siblings. Anyone who has lived
within the same four walls as my brother can tell you that Jesse was a bit of a
hoarder. In fact, a few weeks after Jesse had started school, our dear mother
happened to open his closet door, where what should she find but every single
brown paper bag in which she had sent Jesse’s lunch to school with him, lying
in a pile on the floor. Being the patient mother she is, she gave him the
benefit of a doubt, thinking perhaps Jesse was simply saving the bags to reuse
later – as I said, he always was thrifty, after all. She cautiously approached
the pile, and was shocked and appalled to find that many of them still had
leftover food in them, in some cases at least several days old. When she
approached Jesse to inquire as to what on earth he must have been thinking by
keeping these perishable foods in an unrefrigerated, dark, closet floor,
searching for some reasonable answer that would convince her that her son was
still in touch with reality, his response was, “If I throw them away, then I
will never see them again.”
This is another of the most important attributes of my
brother; he found value and virtue in everything. He threw almost nothing away,
which may have annoyed us at times, but once we understand the reason he did
it, it is difficult to blame him. He saw everything as useful – all it needed
was the right attention. Just a few weeks ago, he used some discarded boards
from the backyard fence to build a sturdy set of steps to the trampoline, so
that his nieces and nephews, and other children who came to the house could
more easily climb onto it. He carefully measured and cut the wood, then securely
put the steps together, and even stained the wood to ensure an attractive and
lasting piece of work. Since we arrived in town, my daughter Avey has used the
steps a dozen times, and I’m sure my son Carver, and any future children we
have will also climb those steps to access the trampoline. In another example,
while attending Brigham Young University, Jesse worked in the copy center of
the Missionary Training Center. After going through a roll of lamination, there
was always a sturdy cardboard cylinder left over. While most people would
simply discard such a thing, Jesse saw its potential for greatness. After some
creative tinkering, he managed to fashion two of these cardboard cylinders
together into a pair of nun chucks. You might think that Jesse would make a
nice set, and then leave it at that, but no; Jesse collected dozens, if not
hundreds of these cardboard cylinders during his brief career at the copy
center, and made several pairs of these nonfatal weapons. In fact, even these
years after he graduated from BYU, when we searched through the contents of
Jesse’s car after the accident, what should we find in the trunk, but a few sets
of these cardboard nun chucks.
Jesse’s creative talents were extensive. He was a quick
learner, and could master whatever he put his mind to in a very short time. He
sometimes used this to turn ordinary trash into weapons, but most of the time
he used his keen intellect, creative juices, and skilled hands to create. About
ten years ago, he decided he wanted to build his own computer. So he did. When
the bathroom tiles were coming apart at my mother’s house a few years ago,
Jesse re-tiled the whole thing. When there was a plumbing problem, Jesse tackled
it. If the sprinkler system acted up, Jesse dug right down in to find the problem.
If his car needed repairs and he could access the equipment, he would research
it, and do it. He excelled at several of his jobs throughout the years,
involving work as varied as food service, customer service, supervising adult
men with learning disabilities in a residential setting, and many others. He
was an excellent cook – if you ever tasted a meal he made, your taste buds
probably did not let you forget it easily.I often consulted with Jesse on
projects I had, because I knew that if anyone would know what to do, it would
be him. And if he didn’t know the answer, he would find it.
Jesse was an amateur artist as well. During college, he
purchased a sculpting tool, and over the years made beautiful designs, carving
flowers into wood, and even crafting a tombstone for the family dog when her
time came. He spent hours learning to make intricate origami shapes. He took on
crocheting and made this very silly hat. Ever since he was young, all he needed
to keep himself occupied during a dull meeting was an Etch-a-Sketch, a ball of
silly putty, or a pencil and a scrap of paper, and he would create a small
masterpiece.
Which leads me into the last attribute of which I will speak
today; his gift with children. Of all of Jesse’s talents, and in many ways because
of them, Jesse’s most lasting and cherished was his ability to relate to
children. Jesse had a way of being simultaneously entertaining, safe, and
encouraging with children. Wherever he went, children flocked to him. They were
always excited to see what new jokes he would tell, or what wonderful shape he
could fold a piece of paper into, or how perfectly he would play the part in a
new imaginary world they wanted to create. Jesse was a pure delight to children
all around him. It is largely due to Jesse that my own daughter, shortly after
she could speak, began to refer to my brothers collectively as “the silly
boys”. Whenever they were around, and especially Jesse, she knew she was in for
a treat. I believe that Jesse’s talent with children was there for the same
reason that Jesse collected what others might see as useless garbage, and why
he meticulously worked to turn ordinary things into extraordinary things. And I
want to place a great deal of emphasis on this point. I know many of you may
forget most of what I’ve said here after a few days, but if I may give you just
one single thing to ponder about Jesse’s life, it is this. I believe that Jesse
truly saw each child as a son or daughter of the divine. To him, it was not
just some nice thought that you hear in Sunday School, but it was literal. I
believe that, just as Jesse looked at an ordinary, boring cardboard tube and
saw deeper purpose, hours of use, and entertainment, I believe that he saw each
child as having limitless potential. How could he not dedicate himself to
cultivating that potential? For reasons I will not go into, he had a profound
understanding of a child’s need for a safe haven. Jesse looked at a child as a
seed that was destined, by design, to become something glorious – they simply
need the proper nourishment to grow and thrive as adults. I believe that he thought of children
as predisposed to excellence, and that it is only through the failings of the
world that this course toward excellence is detracted.And he worked tirelessly
to become a subtle, but influential source of that much-needed nourishment. He
listened to children when they spoke, and heard what they were saying. Rather
than arguing, and interrupting, he allowed them to express themselves. When
they cried, he felt what they felt, and rather than ordering or pressuring, he
validated their emotions. “Yes, it is hard to clean up when playing is so much
more fun”, “You’re right, it can be hard to sit still when there is so much
else you could do”, “It’s okay to feel sad when things don’t go the way you
wanted them to.”I am convinced that his perspective on childhood is why he
chose the career path he did, and I am confident that he would have thrived
therein. By all reports, he was a blessing to the children who knew him, and
will continue to be as others, like I, have learned from his example. Even
though my one-year-old will have no memory of Jesse, I will be sure that he is
not free of Jesse’s influence. I will strive to be that same haven, that
support, and that teacher to my children just as Jesse was.
Now, I’d like to briefly direct my remarks to the children
who are here. You children who knew my brother, please listen closely and
remember what I am about to say. Thank you for being his friend. For every
smile he brought to your face, and every laugh, for each moment you were amazed
at what he could do with his scraps of paper and wads of silly putty, you were
vitally important to him. He felt like each time that happened, he was
fulfilling a little more of his purpose in life. He was happiest in those small
moments, because he knew he was important to you. And so I say it one more
time: Thank you for being my brother’s friend.
The things I have shared with you this morning are just a
glimpse into Jesse. I wish we had the months and years it would take to
adequately describe him. Luckily for most of us, we had those years with him.
Although we will miss Jesse George Ricks, he will always be with us, in one
form or another.
In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.
