Richard Hammond

Richard Gene Hammond passed away on Tuesday, February 14, 2017. He was 63 years of age. Richard was beloved by his family, friends, and coworkers. He will be Deeply missed.

Richard grew up in Grand Junction, CO and is the oldest of four siblings. He is preceded in death by his father, Richard Lee Hammond, and mother, Jane Carol Hammond. He is survived by his wife Kristi Valdez; sister's Barbara Hammond, Carol Hammond, and Nancy Hammond; his children, Jessica Moon, Erin Hammond, Richard Hammond; his grandsons, James and Jack Moon; and step children Garrett Gordy, and Haley Gordy.

Growing up, Richard was active in sports and church. Richard graduated from Mesa College, has a Master's degree from the Naval Post Graduate School, and studied Mandarin at the Defense Language Institute as a Foreign Area Officer. Following his education Richard served his country as an Infantry Officer in the United States Marine Corps for 24 years.

Richard always put a lot of thought, planning, and love into anything he did, including his role as a father. In every trip, piece of advice, gift, or moment in time spent with his children Richard left behind sweet memories that they will treasure, because he took the time to make each thing special. Each great memory and defining moment in their childhood were impacted by a great man. Richard loved Colorado and being outdoors. He loved fishing, camping, and skiing. He was a kind, caring, patient, and loving father. His children will miss him terribly.

Richard's wife will remember him as proud, dedicated, and loyal - a man of honor. She knew him as the man that a million people loved and respected, and a man with a good soul.

Richard's co workers have also felt his loss, and wrote the following:

"Transportation:

The day Gene walked through the doors of D49 Transportation he became a part of our family. His door was always open to all and now with the door closed, we feel an emptiness and heart break that is hard to express. Gene brought his work and life experience to transportation with new ideas that moved us into the 21st century. His thoughts were always on how to provide the best service, provide safety for our students and, most of all, how to keep parents informed about changes in the transport of their children. His leadership encouraged his staff to excel in their career paths, as well as providing us an open forum to discuss new and innovative ideas to provide the best customer service possible to everyone; whether it be the parents, students, or co-workers. He was our "special transportation guy," as he always called himself. His shoes will be very difficult to fill, he was one of a kind.

Operations:

Although the operations department will truly miss the unique and wonderful interactions each of us had with our D49 "transportation guy" Gene Hammond, he leaves behind his legacy of building one of the best K-12 transportation departments in the State of Colorado and the Southwest Region. Through his strong leadership the D49 transportation team is continuing to transport our students safely and efficiently like a well oil machine."

Richard Gene Hammond was loved by many, and there will be many scars and ship wrecks left in his wake.

"I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to 'not matter'. I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can't see.

As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months or years, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything...and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out.

Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them. And other waves will come. And you'll survive them too. If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks."...G. Snow

**Memorial service to be held at Fort Logan National Cemetery, on Tuesday, February 21, 2017. To attend please meet at Staging Area C no later than 3pm. Services will conclude at 3:45pm.**