Richard Gary Corriston

Before I say goodbye, I want to remember the man my Dad was and the life he lived. Dad was a hardworking, steady man who carried a quiet strength with him everywhere he went. He served his country proudly in the Coast Guard, worked for forty years without missing a day, and spent his life doing whatever was necessary to provide for the people he loved. He didn’t need to say much to show you he cared. You knew it by the way he lived, by the way he showed up, and by the way he could always be counted on.

Dad was up before the sun most mornings, boots on ready to face another day. He believed you did your job, kept your word, took care of your family, and helped someone when they needed you. He never asked for recognition or sympathy. He simply went to work and did what had to be done.

After serving in the Coast Guard, Dad spent years driving long-haul trucks, delivering hydrogen across the country. He traveled through countless towns and states, covered thousands of miles, and spent many early mornings and late nights behind the wheel. It was hard work, but he never complained. No matter how far away he was, the people he loved were always in his heart.

There were plenty of things Dad enjoyed when he wasn’t working. He loved golf, football, baseball, his firearms, and especially his Softail Harley-Davidson. He loved the freedom of that motorcycle and the feeling of being out on the open road. I’ll also always remember February 18 2001, when I got Dad interested in NASCAR. Once he started watching, he was hooked. Before long, Tony Stewart became his favorite driver, and NASCAR became another little piece of life that we could share.

Dad retired in 2003. He and Mom sold their home in Rowland Heights and moved to their condo in Palm Springs. After spending most of his life working, he finally had time to slow down, play more golf, enjoy Mom, and spend more time with his children and grandchildren. Those years gave him something he had earned through a lifetime of hard work the chance to enjoy the family he had spent so many years providing for.

Then came the kind of loss no parent should ever have to endure.

On April 20, 2025, Easter Sunday, Dad lost his youngest son, Tracy.

There are no words big enough to explain what that did to him. Losing a child changes something inside a parent that can never be put back the way it was. Dad had spent his entire life being strong, facing whatever came his way and finding a way to keep going, but this was different. Tracy wasn’t just his son. He was a part of Dad, and when Tracy died, I believe a piece of Dad’s heart went with him.

Dad tried to carry on because that was who he was. He got up, faced each day, and did his best to keep moving forward. But underneath that strength was a father carrying a heartbreak that words could never fully explain. He was retired, so there was no job to return to and no place to escape the quiet. There were days and nights when the memories came back and the reality of Tracy being gone settled in all over again. I believe Dad carried that grief much deeper than most of us could ever see.

And somehow, even through that pain, Dad remained a forgiving man. He believed people deserved second chances. He didn’t like holding onto anger, and he wasn’t someone who wanted to spend his life carrying grudges. If somebody needed help, Dad was the kind of person who would try to help. If someone needed him, he showed up. That was simply the man he was.

He believed in family, believed in helping others, and believed in the Lord. Life tested that faith in ways none of us would ever choose, but I believe Dad held onto the hope that this life was not the end.

That is what gives me comfort now.

I think about Dad and Tracy together again, somewhere beyond all the pain this world can bring. I like to believe that Dad finally gets to hold his son again without having to worry about losing him. There are no tears, no heartbreak, and no goodbyes where they are now. I hope they are together, just as they should be, with nothing left between them except peace.

And when I picture Dad, I can see him the way I’ll always remember him comfortable, content, and finally free from the pain he carried for so long. Maybe he has his Harley beside him, maybe Tracy is right there with him, and maybe for the first time in a long time, Dad can simply enjoy being with his son without having to worry about tomorrow.

I hope that’s where you are, Dad.

There are so many things I wish I could have one more chance to tell you. I would give anything to hear your voice again, sit beside you, talk about golf or sports, watch a NASCAR race with you, or simply be in the same room with you doing nothing at all. Those ordinary moments never seemed extraordinary while we had them, but now I understand that those were some of the most valuable moments of all.

Your life mattered, Dad. You were a husband, a father, a grandfather, a brother, a veteran, a friend, and a man people could depend on. You worked hard, loved your family, served your country, helped others, and gave more of yourself than you probably ever realized.

I know losing Tracy changed you. I know you carried that pain until the very end. But I hope you don’t have to carry it anymore. I hope you found your son again. I hope Heaven welcomed you both with open arms, and I hope you’re finally at peace.

Someday, when my own time here is finished, I hope I get to see you again. I hope I get to hear your voice, sit beside you, and tell you all the things I never got the chance to say.

Until then, I’ll carry you with me in everything I do. I’ll remember the lessons you taught me, the strength you showed me, the forgiveness you gave others, and the love you gave your family. I’ll remember your stories, your laughter your love of golf and sports, your NASCAR races, your Harley, and all the little things that made you Dad.

You spent your life working, providing, serving, and giving everything you had to the people you loved. You carried more than most people ever knew, especially after losing Tracy. Now I hope you can finally lay that weight down.

And maybe Heaven does have a highway after all. If it does, I hope you’re riding that Harley with Tracy beside you, beneath an endless open sky, with no pain behind you and nothing ahead except peace. I hope you’re together again, Dad and son, exactly where you belong.

I love you, Dad. I’ll miss you for the rest of my life. Thank you for everything you gave to all of us, everything you taught us, and for simply being our Dad.