![[]](Assets/JimRCambodia.jpg)
November 18, 2007
“Hi Daddy, it's me, Lary. I'm here!
Can you hear me? I'm here. Everything's going to be ok. You're going to be just fine.
I love you. I'm here.
Everything's going to be just fine.”
Can you hear me? I'm here. Everything's going to be ok. You're going to be just fine.
I love you. I'm here.
Everything's going to be just fine.”
Those are the words I know you heard when I arrived at your bedside last Friday. I remember seeing your eyes flicker open, acknowledging my presence. Your brow creased; you were so excited to see me. I wish I'd been there sooner. I know you wanted to write me a note. You indicated so clearly with your hands for us to give you paper and pen and tried so hard to write something to me. I don't know what you would have said but I don't care because in the past 30 years you've raised me (because you've never stopped), you said absolutely everything. And the only thing that matters is that you love me.
God, you have no idea how much we miss you. I always knew I loved you but I had no idea how painful it would be to be without you. 30 years. 30 years! What would we have done without you? I know you don't like hearing it but I've always said you are our angel, that God sent you to us to protect us and to guide us…to love us and to teach us. Now I know that more than ever to be true.
It's been a few days already and I still can't believe you're gone. I woke up the morning after and told Larry that I'd had a bad dream, that I dreamt you died. Was it true? Was it possible? Were you really no longer there? Hadn't I just seen you weeks earlier at my house? Weren't you just hugging me and holding my newborn baby? I still expect you to be at your computer in the loft. I still expect to hear your voice when I call. Is it really possible that all I have now are memories of you? I can still see your face clearly, hear your laugh, see your smile. It was always my intent to make you happy and to make you proud. I hope we did that.
Daddy, thank you so much for being the very best father we could ever have. You sacrificed so much and gave us everything. I promise, your legacy of integrity, character, honesty, hard work and concern for others is what Riny and I will instill in our children. I know your wish is that your grandchildren grow to become educated and responsible members of society, that they feel themselves to be ‘citizens of the world' and therefore concerned about the welfare of other nations and peoples besides their own…what I can tell you is you taught us exactly that and served as the best role model of strength and self respect we could ever have. We will love, honor and remember you always.
As for everyone here today, they all knew you in some capacity, be it brother in law, uncle, relative or colleague. And in speaking to them, everyone seems to remark the same thing – what a wonderful and gentle soul you are. You appeared so mild mannered to the naked eye but were in fact such a passionate and dry witted soul. Your thoughtfulness and wisdom were infinite and your compassion and care for others the standard by which you lived your life. Since I could never express that clearly, I will let your own words speak your truth. Thank you for this gift you've left us. I don't know that it was intended for public consumption but here are edited pieces of your hidden farewell speech we discovered…I love you, Daddy. I love you so much.
What to say in your farewell speech? I've had a great time? I loved my wife and kids? I don't think this is unusual, but it occurs to me that those (proudest) times were when I was making a contribution to someone. Peace Corps. Raising our kids. Siem Reap. Why am I proud of things I did for others? Why would that give me such satisfaction? I think it is a legacy of my early Christianity, actually, which taught selflessness and giving… Let's take the Peace Corps as an example. I believe I went to Thailand for both selfless and selfish reasons. I wanted to contribute to people who didn't have the skill that I could impart, namely use of the English language, so that they would have more options available to them when they finished school. At the same time, I wanted to have an adventure, to live overseas, to learn a foreign language and culture. I can't measure how much I contributed, but I know what I gained personally: openness, perspective, tolerance. Those are important things. That experience led directly to my stay at Siem Reap forty years later. In Cambodia, people need more than options. Many villagers are dirt poor, hungry, sick and dying. They need a start, not a boost. I happened to find a small organization of dedicated people – all Cambodians – who worked to build health care capacity in the community and to provide health education to people who knew nothing modern or scientific about sickness and its causes and cures and who did not have the resources to get medical care. I could offer no medical knowledge, no healing skills. I didn't even have the language skills to communicate with the villagers. I did have management experience. I had the ability to ask questions and think through problems. I had the ability to communicate well in English so that I could help my colleagues present clear messages to the English speaking foreigners with whom they had to deal. So I found a useful place there for myself. And my kids? Well, kids turn out to be a life-long pleasure and burden, if you're lucky. They are not “my” kids biologically. But they are mine as much as your kids are yours. I love them so much I start to cry when I just think of them being my kids, just as I am crying at this moment. I'm glad you (and they) are not here to see me dissolve in a wet pool of tears. They are, of course, grown, and they have their own kids, and they love their kids the way I love them. I don't know if they realize that the joy and burden of parenting will continue long after their children are grown. Why haven't I mentioned my wife, Viriyane? Because she wasn't a person I needed o make a contribution to. She has always been strong and determined. And she supported me at least as much as I supported her. She came to the U.S. by herself to study, and she probably knew that she was likely to stay here, given the turmoil in Cambodia at the time. That's much different from me going to Thailand for what I thought would be two years or even going to Cambodia much later, thinking it would be for five years. She went to a foreign country on her own where she had to learn the language and the culture and find a job and make a living and bring her mother and (our) two children to live with her, wondering if she could support the children and send them to college and make them self-reliant, educated Americans. She did all that. An enormous undertaking. I love her and admire her. So what did I learn in a life reasonably well lived? You love and you lose. You are well and you are sick. You are alive and you are dead…the one thing you leave behind is the impression you have left in the memories of people who knew you. I hope those impressions are positive. I hope my grandchildren, especially, will remember me, for they will be the last people to die with a memory of their Grandpa. (I'm getting a little teary-eyed again here. They won't remember much, but from time to time I hope (funny, I can still hope) that they will think of me and remember me fondly. I'm going to step through that door now. That's the other side. I don't believe anything is there, but just in case I will try to describe it to you while I have a chance. OK, here I go . . . . |
Oh, Daddy. We love you. Thank you for everything. There will never be a day that passes that we don't think of you and see you and wish you were here. We have the rest of our lives to live – I wish my children Strachan and Luca could know you – but realize you will be with us always and forever, in who we are and what we do. To that end, I promise to continue fighting for and supporting Friends Without a Border and your beloved Angkor Hospital for Children. I will ask all our friends and family to do the same. It's no consolation but I realize now that the risk we took in you having this surgery was so you could return to Cambodia to be with the people and place you love. My heart breaks that your heart broke but know you are watching over us.
“Daddy, I see you now! You're the healthiest and happiest you've ever been.
You're in the garden of Villa Nida, totally relaxed and sitting in a wicker chair.
You're wearing a purple, checkered sarong and you have the biggest smile on your face.
Don't move. We'll be right there."
You're in the garden of Villa Nida, totally relaxed and sitting in a wicker chair.
You're wearing a purple, checkered sarong and you have the biggest smile on your face.
Don't move. We'll be right there."
James Strachan Richardson
![[]](Assets/JimR.jpg)
January 28, 1944 – November 14, 2007
Dear Family and Friends,
It is with great sadness and devastation that we must share the news of our father's passing yesterday morning, November 14, 2007 at 3:00am. Mommy, Riny, and I were by his bedside, holding him and loving him until his last breath. The course of events that led to his death are as follows...pending the transfer to Stanford Medical Center for a possible heart transplant, doctors delayed the trip from last Friday to Tuesday in order to stabilize his vitals. On arrival to the hospital Tuesday, we were told the transfer would take place at 4pm. At 2pm his heart and breathing were still "fluttering" so a procedure was done wherein Dad's heart was given electric shock and essentially "re-booted" in order to establish a more consistent rhythm. Having successfully done that, the cardiac intensive care team from Stanford was given the green light to arrange the transfer of our father and of all the machines attached to him. This included the heart pump, kidney dialysis, breathing apparatus and more.
A dedicated team of flight nurses, EMTs, and respiratory therapists took 3 1/2 hours to delicately unhook and reattach all the tubes and medications in preparation of the mobile ICU. So fragile was Dad that it took a total of 13 persons to lift him onto the gurney. All the while, he fought bravely to endure the discomfort and pain. His eyes were open and alert where they had not been for days and somehow, he gathered the strength to mouth “I love you” to Riny as she held his hand and cheered him on. Anticipating his departure to Stanford, Larry, Meme, the babies and I left for Palo Alto where we checked into a hotel and awaited news of his arrival. Instead, Riny called at 10:30pm to say Daddy's lungs had collapsed, his blood pressure had dropped, and despite all efforts of the medical team, they would no longer be able to complete the transfer. Reattaching all tubes and machines back in place, the cardiac care team worked to bring his blood pressure up and to increase his lung capacity. At this point, he had jaundice due to his failing liver and because of the poor circulation in his system, his extremities were compromised and his toes, fingers, and ears were purple, in danger of permanent damage.
Needing to work on him, the team suggested Riny and Mother go home, which they did, arriving at approximately 12:45am. Around 2:00am the phone rang and the surgeon in charge said Daddy was declining quickly and that we should come. Mother, Riny, and I raced across the Bay Bridge and through the ER to the cardiovascular ICU where we found Daddy surrounded by doctors, interns, and the entire night staff. The look on their faces said it all. He was “breathing” but only with the assistance of a machine. Within minutes of our arrival, he was officially pronounced dead.
THANK YOU to everyone for all your calls and emails checking on Father before, during, and after the operation. We are still reeling from the shock of his sudden and unexpected death but the bottom line is he was very sick - much more so than anyone knew. Once he reacted negatively to the initial surgery, he quickly spiraled from there. Daddy's poor body simply couldn't take the strain of such an invasive operation and within hours, his vital organs began to shut down. Our only consolation is that Father took the risk of having heart valve surgery so he could return to the country, people, and place he so loved - Siem Reap, Cambodia. Without it he would have been restrained to a life in the States; with a successful surgery, he could have returned to his dream of a life and adventure abroad.
On that note, we ask that in lieu of flowers, Family and Friends re-direct their outpour of love and generosity to the following non-profit organization. As you may know, once retired, Father moved to Cambodia to serve as a volunteer at Angkor Hospital for Children (AHC) in their Capacity Building and Health Education Program (CBHEP). It was a great passion of his and one which he would be happy to see us all support. Given the hospital's expanding Pediatric Cardiac Program, we find it very fitting that our father's death from cardiac failure would ironically and wonderfully give life.
Friends Without A Border:
1123 Broadway, Suite 1210
New York, NY 10010
Tel: (212) 691-0909
Fax: (212) 337-8052
e-mail: fwab@fwab.org; www.fwab.org
For donations, please go to: http://www.fwab.org/donate.php
| From Doug, who worked with Jim at the Congressional Research Service... "It is an honor and privilege to be able to say a few words abut my good friend, Jim Richardson. Over the past 28 years, we have worked together on a daily basis negotiating labor agreements, traveling together to dispute resolution conferences all over the country, lunching together on hundreds of occasions, almost always in Asian restaurants, attending Wizards basketball games and an assortment of baseball games. But just plain talking together was the most important thing that we did... and did we ever talk... and about every subject - politics, our wives, our children, our hopes and our dreams. I knew Jim not just as a colleague but as of man of substance who cared deeply about others and who stood up for them - as he did in the Peace Corps many years ago in Thailand as as he did again in Cambodia over the past year where he worked as a Volunteer at the Angkor Hospital for Children. At the Library of Congress, he performed skillfully in its Congressional Research Service as Head of the Administration Office, as Assistant Chief of the Library Services Division, and as Head of the Technology Office. Wherever and whenever he was asked to serve, he did so with competence and with dignity. As a member of the Library's negotiating team, he was a tireless contributor to the progress made in the area of labor management relations. We even gave him the title of Most Valuable Player. Jim was a role model in the Congressional Research Service not just for the high work standard that he set, but also for the kind and thoughtful manner in which he treated staff on all levels of the organization. He had the personality that made him the ideal colleague. He was the same person every day for all the years that I knew him. He was warm, friendly, approachable, no temper, never defensive. We all know that Jim had a dream, a dream which he fulfilled, to live in Cambodia and to make a difference to Cambodian children in need of health care. When he retired form the Congressional Research Service less than two years ago, it was, in a sense, an ending, but for Jim it was a chance to explore elsewhere. Jim was a very determined man and nothing was going to deter him from doing his share to improve the lives of others. As citizens of the world, we are always searching for heroes and so often we cannot find them. Jim was one of those quiet heroes who walked softly, but contributed so much as a young Peace Corps Volunteer, a long term public servant, and in retirement, a volunteer in the children's hospital. We all know that the quiet heroes are the real heroes. Jim's conviction and determination to make a difference in this world after retirement should inspire us all to do more and not less with the time we so often feel we lack. Robert F. Kennedy once said, "Few will have greatness to bend history itself; but each of us can work to change a small portion of events, and in the total of all those acts will be written the history of this generation." |
A lifelong Buddhist, James Strachan Richardson will be given a "100 Day" Buddhist Memorial Service in Long Beach, CA., tentatively scheduled for Sunday, February 24, 2008, from 9:00am -12:00pm (to be confirmed) at:
Khemara Buddhikaram Cambodian Temple
2100 W. Willow Street
Long Beach, CA. 90810
Contact: Olary Yim 310.980.8880
2100 W. Willow Street
Long Beach, CA. 90810
Contact: Olary Yim 310.980.8880
This later date will hopefully allow those unable to attend a previous service to make the necessary arrangements to join us in celebrating Jim's life. Please feel free to forward this e-mail to anyone who may be interested. Thank you again for your love and support.