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Personal & legal
Ross's godfather, Joseph S. Busey, wrote the following article for his weekly column, "Ask Dr. Joe" in The Tehama Trader:
I remember you before you were born, even before you were conceived as your mother and I sat on the beach at the Sea of Cortez and plotted for her and your dad to have a baby, you, while he was out swimming blissfully among the small sharks.
I remember hanging out with your mom and dad all during the pregnancy, and going with them to the hospital and then holding you just minutes after you were born.
I remember baby-sitting your sleeping form downstairs while your mom and dad had a chance to be alone together upstairs.
I remember sitting in your kitchen in the big farmhouse while you started banging on the bottom of a pot with a spoon. Childlike, I joined you with another pot, and your dad starting pounding on a pan while your mom first registered her displeasure at all the noise, then broke into her famous cackle as the cacophony become one of those special, magic moments of memory.
I remember spending time teaching you to play catch, only to have the hardball (what a mistake) pass right through your waiting hands onto your nose, which promptly bloodied as you howled and your parents smilingly forgave me.
I remember as you entered into the Joke Phase, where your budding intellect categorized the world and then played with grouping the categories in your own developing sense of humor - though your parents and I never could understand why you burst into peals of laughter as you said time after time, "Joe, you're Cherries."
I remember all the Thanksgiving dinners, at least two dozen, where I watched you grow from a too-cute little boy to a strapping young man as tall as I and half a head higher than your proud father.
I remember riding shotgun with you the first time after you got your license and being pleasantly surprised at how carefully you drove (especially after riding, and flying, with your dad.)
I remember your valedictory speech at the American Christian Academy up in Redding, and your college odyssey first to Hampton-Sydney in Virginia, then to Santa Clara, then bypassing Cornell Law School, and finally, after spending a year in the financial world, deciding to attend the same law school in Boston as your fiancée does.
I remember you cradling my own young son in your arms and tearing up as I saw you together, for he looks so much like you as a child that whenever we're all together, I start calling him not Luke, but Ross.
And I remember three days ago, when your mother called in deep shock to say a driver didn't see you bicycling out by Occidental and hit you so hard your helmet shattered.
Now you lie in the Valley of the Shadow of Death and we all gather to pray to God for his mercy to spare your life and heal you.
Oh Ross, I remember too well . . .