Adventurous soul I was privileged to call my son
RICHARD was a handsome little boy who was full of fun, mischief and adventure. Aged five, he climbed out of his bedroom window — just to see if he could.
When he was eight, he accidentally set fire to the neighbour’s fir trees. And then, in a panic, he tried to put out the flames using a teeny plastic beach bucket!
But he was never bad — just curious, and very charming. When the firemen arrived, they were surprisingly understanding and let him and his brother, Craig, ride in their fire engine with helmets on.
From a mischievous little boy, Richard grew into a fine young man — always happy and always the peacemaker.
Richard liked school and was a wonderful artist, but he didn’t reach his potential until later. It was only in his early 20s that it all came together when, as a mature student, he studied graphic design at Bournemouth university and later at the university of Wisconsin. Sadly for us, he never moved back to Wales. After America, he settled in Guernsey, which he came to adore.
He was the only one of my four children to move away, but he loved his brother and sisters and never forgot his Welsh heritage.
He was back at least three times a year, and invariably joined us for family holidays and Christmas, and was always so kind.
Every mother’s Day, he sent beautiful flowers and a card he had designed himself. He never forgot anyone’s birthday, sent silly cards with our faces imposed on them, and chose presents with great thought — if not always what we wanted!
And for years and years, he phoned every Sunday evening at six o’clock.
We looked forward to that call all week. His life was so full that he always had plenty of news — mostly about his wonderful daughter, Imogen, 16.
He loved being a dad and he, Imogen and his partner, Judy, did so much together. In the summer they practically lived on the beach, swimming, surf-boarding, enjoying barbecues, walking round the island, camping on Herm Island and holidaying in Croatia, France, all over. His adventurous streak never faded. He was involved in endless charities (as well as the Duke of Edinburgh award for young people). So he trekked across Iceland, climbed mount Kilimanjaro, followed the Inca Trail, reached the Everest base camp and completed the London to Paris cycle ride. Richard was bouncy, energetic and funny. One minute he was with us, planning his next mountain climb, packing his life full. The next he was gone. He died of a heart attack one Sunday last February. The day before, he’d walked 15 miles. That Sunday night was the first time he didn’t call. Oh my Richard, I think of you every second of every day. Our hearts are broken and we will never recover from the loss — but it was a privilege to be your mother. RICHARD GRINDELL, born August 5, 1962, died February 26, 2017, aged 54.