In Tribute of Todd Patrick Richissin

“Life is a mindset.”
-Jerzy Kosiński

I don’t often talk about how I feel about the things that I feel, it’s just not something I do very much. I’ve often been told that I talk too much about everything else like what my opinions are on things and what they look like to me. But I think that this is something that I would be disappointed about not writing, writing about my uncle, Todd Patrick Richissin.

My uncle was certainly a character in every sense of the word, always bringing a certain energy into the room with him wherever he went. He always had something witty to say, some story to tell, some advice to give, and more importantly, some love to give.

I remember as a little kid when I would stay with my grandma and him sometimes, he’d always make the three of us breakfast. He never had to do that, why would he? He was this world traveling reporter who’d won dozens of awards for the mastercraft stories that he’d penned, and yet there he was at his mom's small home in little Brookpark, making his mom and nephew eggs and toast. It’s because he loved us.

I didn’t get to know him as much as I wish I could’ve when I was that young, but what I am left with were the memories with him being a fantastic uncle, always doing the little things like always doing my grandma’s garden, making breakfast, telling a good joke, and always making me feel important.

He always made you feel like he could never forget about you, because he never would forget about anybody. And yet, he never did it just to be remembered, he did it because he loved you. He never needed to be known as the reporter that I described, because all he ever wanted to be called was a brother and a friend.

A few years had gone by and Todd had moved away for a while. He’d lived all over the world at some point or another but eventually he’d landed in New York with my sister and brother in law. I remember thinking “Todd’s gonna love it there.” and boy did he. He always had a knack for befriending people, especially a good bartender when he could help it as his inner Irishman would show through.

He had dozens of friends, many of whom I was lucky enough to meet last year, all of which told me how great he was. In New York he thrived, seeing as much of the city as he could, and being with as many people as he could be with, coming home with a new story every time I saw him.

When my sister had my first niece, I remember hearing how he’d been over with them constantly to see her, wanting to be a part of her life like he was for mine and my cousin’s lives. He’d bring toys and games for my niece and a good bottle of wine for my sister, never doing it because he felt like he had to. He loved doing it, because he loved his family like no other.

After a bit, the news broke that Todd had cancer. It rocked us all to our core. I was later told about what happened the day that Todd was told that news. It’s to my understanding that he just went home that day, and came back the next day ready to face it. He didn’t change as a person at all, he still loved as hard as he could, he still went to see my niece and my sister and brother in law, he still came home every year to do my grandma’s roses, and he still would always have a good laugh with you. Everyday, Todd was fighting a horrible disease and yet he never let it beat him. He never gave in to the circumstance and he never changed because of what life threw at him.

A few more years went by and Todd moved back to Cleveland, a true Browns fan till the end and don’t let anybody tell you otherwise. He eventually found his way into the Halle building downtown, right across from the theatre district. I didn’t really know my uncle that well until he moved into town.

I’d turned 16 so I could drive down to go see him and what I’d learned is that he was a big fan of theatre. We would go all the time to see plays and musicals like “Miss Saigon” or “Dear Evan Hansen” and we’d eat at the now closed, Cowell & Hubbard restaurant where we’d get a table even on the busiest night because, true to his nature, he’d made a friend out of the manager. We’d talk for hours about stories and plays and how to write well. It’s, in part, due to him that I even want to be a writer in the first place.

Eventually, COVID-19 hit and did its thing. Shutdowns everywhere, lockdown was in full swing, and my uncle couldn’t exactly leave the house given his condition. At the time I was out of a job and, knowing that, he gave me one. It was just simple things like delivering groceries and occasionally cleaning his kitchen, but he paid me well and I wanted to help him out too.

There were days where I’d fill his fridge, only to find it still full from the last time I came, he had stopped eating that much because he simply just couldn’t. Even still, he’d go and visit his mom as much as he could. Like I said before, he loved her more than anybody I know, so much that he’d still come home every year even when he’d gotten his diagnoses to do her garden for her.

But unfortunately, my grandma, Maureen Richissin, passed in May of 2020 and it was about as easy as you think it was. And yet, Todd was still there, ready to comfort you. He cried of course, but when I tell you that he’d hug you tight and say “It’s gonna be okay.” I mean it.

A few months passed and Todd’s condition had grown worse and eventually had reached its end. Todd was with hospice and it would be any day. His room overlooked the lake, a sight that was beautiful at sunset, and to a real man of Cleveland, a glorious final view.

The days leading up to it were damn near impossible. I went to visit him one day, the last time I ever saw him. It was my mom and I and when I got there he did the thing he always did when he saw one of his nieces or nephews. He raised his arms and yelled “Favorite Nephew!” Even in his condition, he tried his very best to make me feel comforted. I sat across from him and I just watched him and my mother talk, him dozing off occasionally, too weak to stay up longer than a few minutes at a time.

I just sat there, teary eyed and eventually my mom left the room and I took my place beside his bed. I sobbed next to him, how could I not? The wisest man I’d ever met, the writer who could do anything, the friend maker, the comedic genius, the man who’d never give up on Cleveland sports, the man who loved you no matter what was right there on his deathbed.

I asked him,

“How’d you do it Todd? How did you live such a good life?”

And he said to me,

“You find the people you love...and you love them as much as you can. That’s all there is to it.”

Days later, after overlooking the Lake Erie sunset with his brothers, and saying his final goodbyes, Todd Patrick Richissin passed away a year ago today, on October 23rd, 2020. It was later at the funeral that I found out about all the stories about my uncle that his friends had told about him.

How unbeknownst to everybody in my family that he’d taken the Richissin men’s barber’s daughter out to prom, how he taught inner city adults how to read and write, how he saved people's lives through his writing, and about the great life he’d lived. How he did right by people when he could, and how he’d loved. Like I said, he never wanted to be called anything other than a brother and a friend.

What I learned from all that is that my uncle Todd was someone to look up to. He was somebody who tried to love as best he could; somebody to lean on, have a laugh with; somebody to watch the Browns lose with and somebody to depend on.

He never stopped living his life the best he could because of something that was out of his control, he kept going.

Life is something that we are given and no matter where we are in it, it’s up to us to make the best of it for not just ourselves, but others too. Find the people you love, hug them tight, and tell them you love them. Never leave those words unsaid, because Todd sure didn’t.