Richard Allen

Richard Allen, 74, of Willoughby, passed away peacefully sitting next to his wife, Donna on Thursday, April 15, 2021 at the David Simpson Hospice House, Cleveland. He was born October 21, 1946 in Cleveland, to the late Ralph and Anna Dichtenmiller The following letter written on January 28, 2020 is included as a means of sharing Richard's life with you. My dearest Richard, It somehow seems fitting that I would be writing this gratitude letter to you on this day, the 49th birthday of our twin daughters. You and I will be celebrating our 50th wedding anniversary this June. Wow! This is quite an accomplishment, considering how different we are from each other. But then, they do say that opposites attract. Let me first of all thank you for being such a good father. You’ve always loved our three girls and had their best interest at heart. When Sue and Sandy came home from their seven-week stay in the hospital as preemies and round-the-clock feedings were necessary, you were right there with me during the nights. We fed, changed, and rocked the girls as a team. I napped when they napped during the day, and off you went to work only to come home and pitch right in again. When Beth was born 15 years later, you were no less attentive to the care of an infant and to me. And as she and the girls were growing up, you took an active interest in their activities, be it softball, baton twirling, dance lessons, trips to Montreal, Spain, Japan and much more. Know that I so appreciate you being such a good provider for all of us. You never, ever acted as if we were a burden or as if you’d rather being doing something other than taking care of all of us. You diligently climbed the corporate ladder to keep us fed, clothed, housed, and happy. You generously shared all you earned with us – providing vacations, a summer cottage, private educations, college tuition, and weddings. Most of these had not been provided to you, yet you gladly worked hard so we could enjoy these luxuries. You have always been an encourager of others. If a woman in the shop needed a pick-me-up, you would take her a lemon-filled donut, her favorite treat. If your boss needed a level-headed word of advice, you would offer it gladly and humbly. Your integrity at work, in my estimation, was impeccable. Perhaps that is why others recommended you so highly to others. You were honest, caring, humble, and very good with numbers. Audits, for the most part, were seamless. Neither was there ever a need to hide anything. I cannot tell you how much all the guidance and encouragement you have given me over the years has positively impacted my life. Before we were ever married, you told me to use our marriage as a springboard for whatever I wanted to do in life. You nudged me to study in France during my studies at Wooster, even though you didn’t want me to leave for the summer. That was very unselfish of you. And during my years of teaching, you encouraged me to take students to France so they could experience the fun of traveling abroad. Later on, when I wanted to backpack in the Rocky Mountains for 10 days with friends, you told me to “go for it” and went out and bought me hiking boots and a backpack. Those and other hiking items were used for many more trips with friends and family (though we did learn backpacking was not your thing).  I have had an interest in health and well-being, personal growth and development, and all things spiritual and metaphysical since I was a young child. This interest took off in the past 20 or so years and you nudged me forward every step of the way. My teaching part-time versus full-time was not a problem for you; you wanted me to explore all my interests. You encouraged me to self-publish my book, to take and teach whatever classes and workshops I wanted, even though this involved hundreds of hours and thousands of dollars. It didn’t bother you that you didn’t understand all of that in which I was so interested; you only cared that I was doing what I wanted to do. Even now, with all your health challenges, you encourage me to be with my friends, to go to church or to this or that class, event, or gathering. Your generosity of spirit keeps me going. You had that near-death experience when the twins were only 18 months old. You had had a pulmonary embolism. You were floating over your body and saw the nurse starting to do CPR on you. You then re-entered your body and reached up your hands to stop her. That event impacted my life greatly. For years I didn’t know if it would happen again, if you might be taken from me prematurely. I felt like I had to be very responsible, to learn as much as I could about how to handle finances, to run a household, to fix things and do things by myself – just in case you did leave me and I had to manage on my own. But you haven’t left. You’re still here. And I am SO very grateful. I still come to you for advice. You are the best listener I know, and you always, always answer honestly. Over the years I’ve heard you say countless times, “One should always leave a person with their dignity.” I’ve watched you do that over the years; you would never drive anyone into the ground with your thoughts, words or actions. You always gave and continue to give others the benefit of the doubt. That’s just who you are. That why I love you. That’s just one of the many reasons. As your years of employment were finally coming to an end, you often said you wanted to live long enough to retire. Well, in a few short months you will have been retired for three years! I know you are enjoying your retirement and for that I am truly happy. I know I lose my patience from time to time, and I love that when I apologize you simply tell me you don’t pay any attention to me. (Good. At least in this regard.) Okay, my dear. So we are in what is generally considered the third and final chapter of our earthly lives this time around. Most commonly, people in our age group are referred to as “seniors”, “older people”, or (respectfully) “elders.” The elder years, they say, are from the age of sixty to the seventies, eighties, nineties, or to whenever a person moves on to the afterlife. We do not know how the next days, weeks, months, or years of our elder life will play out. There are so many variables in this fast-paced, ever-changing world. One thing I do know for sure is that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You’ve helped me to know myself and to become who I am today. You’ve taught me patience, how to not take myself and life quite so seriously, and to live one day at a time. Your favorite essay, which hung in our first home for many years, begins, “Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember the peace there may be in the silence.” It concludes, “With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it’s still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.” I could be wrong but I believe this poem summarizes quite well your philosophy of life. Correct me if I’m wrong. And last but not least, thank you for your continued attentiveness to our daughters and grandchildren. The little notes you write and your $2 bills will be remembered long after we are gone. You’ve always been creative and fun, a nice balance to my seriousness. Thank you for being true to yourself. I love you lots!! Your loving wife, Donna Richard is survived by his wife of 50 years, Donna Allen (nee: Resch); daughters, Sue (James) Bratton, Sandy (Gail Wondolowski) Allen and Beth (fiancé, Jim Stanek) Allen; grandchildren, Tyler, Aiden, Declan, James, Emmet and Cora; sister, Gail (Bob) Baron and many nieces, nephews and other loving family members. Preceding Richard in death are his granddaughter, Leah Rose Bratton and brother, Ralph Dichtenmiller. Private family services were held. In honor of Richard, the family asks that you offer an act of kindness to someone. You may also make a donation in his memory to Hospice of the Western Reserve P.O. Box 72101, Cleveland 44192, donate online at www.hospicewr.org Arrangements entrusted to the Brunner Sanden Deitrick Funeral Home & Cremation Center, 8466 Mentor Ave., Mentor, OH 44060. Offer condolences at www.brunners.com.

Richard Allen

October 21, 1946 - April 15, 2021