Dear Rico Paul,
Whether you’re listening or not, I forgive you. Whether you feel remorse or not, I forgive you. Whether you have forgiven yourself or not, I forgive you.
I hope the weight of your actions has set in. You’re an adult now. I don’t want to give you a lecture on what you’ve done. But I want to tell you what I’ve lost.
I, my family, Paul Reiter’s co-workers and friends have lost more than what’s on the surface. A father, a son, a brother, a colleague, a friend. I can’t put into words what we’ve all lost, what the community has lost.
I can, however, tell you how this has affected me personally. I can’t sleep some nights, my mind and heart just won’t let me. I can’t see a white van, or a pair of Chuck Taylors, or a St. Louis American stand without my mind automatically thinking of the blue eyes and big smile that came with Paul G. Reiter. I’ve lost security, safety, love, comfort, the list goes on. I can’t even watch certain movies! I refuse to watch The Lion King now!
Two winters ago, it occurred to me what I miss most about my dad, Paul, while watching a movie about a young man who loses his father in the 9/11 attacks. When asked, “What do you miss most about him?” the young man replies, “His voice,” and for the remainder of the movie I couldn’t hear a single word being spoken on screen because all I could hear was Paul: “Work, work, work” or “Let’s wrestle.”
And that’s what I miss most. His voice. I can’t hear it live and in person, and it breaks my heart. I have to play it on repeat in my mind, and that’s the closest I can ever get.
I may put up a tough exterior and not show much pain and grief, but I hurt every day. It will literally move me to tears when I think that he’ll never see me get married. He’ll never see me get my bachelor’s or master’s degrees or pass my CPA exam.
And the one that hurt’s the most, he’ll never meet his grandchildren, my sons or daughters. He would have received a “World’s Best Grandpa” mug or T-shirt or bumper sticker or whatever, and I think for the first time in history one of those items would have rung true, because he really would have been the best.
Except, he wouldn’t have been Grandpa, or Paw-paw or Gramps, he would have been Paul.
It is not an exaggeration when I say that I think about him every day. And some days it’s me missing him. Some days it’s fond memories of him. But every reflection ends in heartache.
That’s just a glance at the somersaults my heart and mind do every day since he’s gone, and I’m one person. He was a brother to seven siblings. He was an integral part of the St. Louis American newspaper. In 58 years he made more friends and connections than most probably do in a lifetime.
There was a family at my grade school, 12-plus children all attending Saint Anthony of Padua. He would pick them up and take them home every day after school.
When people needed help, he was there in a heartbeat. When I needed something, he’d bend over backwards for me. He would donate, he would volunteer. And never once would he ask for anything in return. The community has lost Paul as well.
That being said, again, Rico Paul, I forgive you and I hope everyone else has also. And believe it or not, I feel pain for you. I wouldn’t wish this situation on my worst enemy. But I also wish I still had Paul. I hope this helps you with closure of the outcome of this situation and why what’s about to ensue has to happen, after what has transpired.
Christopher Reiter is the son of Paul Reiter, who was killed by Rico Paul on May 9, 2011. Rico Paul was convicted of first-degree murder and other charges on August 16 and on Tuesday he was sentenced to life without possibility of parole.
