A Rochester 6-year-old was killed crossing the street. His heartbroken mom wants change

Lately, Farasa Brown marks the start of a new day with a red cardinal whistling in her backyard.

The bird first appeared outside her home in Rochester's 19th Ward a few weeks ago, shortly after the death of her 6-year-old son, Ryan "RJ" Grantham Jr. It’s remained nearby ever since.

Many hold that cardinals are messengers from the other side. They are either the reincarnated spirit of a loved one, or they carry messages of love from the deceased to grieving family and friends.

OK, RJ, she tells the bird. I’m up.

She walks over to his room, where bright Kelly green paint ― the boy’s favorite color ― covers two walls. Magnetized letters are still scattered across the floor. Toy trucks point in every direction. Pencil drawings scribbled on green Post-it notes are stuck to his dresser.

A Pokémon housecoat and a faded Grinch onesie sit atop the last pile of dirty clothes Brown can’t yet bring herself to wash. Sometimes she will run her fingers across the fabric and smile at the memory of her youngest child whirling through the house.

Ma!, he would yell if he was here now. Why you in my room? It’s clean!

As she lingers, Brown tells him good morning, asks if he’s proud of her and reminds him she’s trying her best.

Just outside, beyond the peace lily she recently moved to the window sill, stands an unintended symbol of all she has lost. A few years ago, Brown put a fluorescent yellow, kid-shaped sign with an orange flag at the edge of her lawn, pleading drivers to take caution.

Children were at play there.

Ryan Grantham Jr. was killed crossing Thurston Road

Ryan ― known affectionately as Bear to his family and as RJ to others ― was struck and killed June 23 by a truck on Thurston Road, just a few blocks from the home in which he grew up.

The boy had just wanted a snack before his haircut.

Like he’d done many times before, RJ crossed the street between Visions Barbershop and the Thurston Public Meat Market, with his older sister and cousin in tow, in search of a Cocoa Pebbles candy bar, cheddar cheese fries and an AriZona sweet tea.

On his way back to the barbershop, a truck hit him.

Brown, who was sitting in a salon chair across the street from the store, sprinted to his side. On her worst days, she can still picture his lifeless feet.

"Horrible nightmare," she said. "Absolutely horrific. To just hold my son during that time was like the worst thing I could've done in life."

Still, in the midst of the unimaginable, Brown quickly resumed her role as her family's shield. RJ's father, Ryan Grantham ― or Big Ryan, as Brown calls him ― is being held at Monroe County Jail awaiting sentencing on federal charges.

Brown did not want him to find out about their child's death through the evening news, so, within hours, she was on the phone frantically trying to contact jail officials and get a chaplain to his cell.

“I still gotta be strong,” she said. “I still gotta be a parent. If I crumble, I feel like everybody around me is going to crumble.”

Ryan Grantham Jr. was called 'Captain Fun’

RJ got his first nickname ― Bear ― because he growled like one.

From when he was a newborn up until he died, Brown said, she would pat RJ's back as she put him to sleep and laugh as he growled back at her.

He was fuzzy like a bear, with hair styled in locs that grew to the middle of his back. And as the youngest of three, he was playful like a cub.

“Bear was fun,” his mother said. “Bear was resilient. Bear was sweet. Bear was the best cuddle buddy. He was super funny. He just always wanted to have fun. There was no day where he didn’t think that fun wasn’t at the top of the list.”

That included riding up and down his street on his bike or scooter, begging Brown for five more minutes when she called him in for dinner.

Last year, they bought a caterpillar kit and, after weeks of patience, released the butterflies outdoors. He was always on top of the latest trend ― most recently, he persuaded Brown to fill an inflatable pool with foaming soap to make an outdoor bubble bath. RJ was looking forward to trips to Legoland and Coney Island this summer, she said.

He kept a small, green basketball in his bedroom for the hoop in the backyard, but when it was time for football, “that was a different kid,” Brown said. RJ would force an intimidating scowl and flex his muscles, but no matter how hard he tried, his game face never could offset the humor of his scrawny, 6-year-old arms.

“On the street, he was called Captain Fun,” Brown said. “RJ was the glue. If RJ said everyone had to come out, everyone said, ‘OK, RJ.’ And RJ made sure he went everywhere.”

Ryan Grantham Jr.: Rochester's 19th Ward mourns loss

The community has rallied around the grieving mother.

By the time she returned to the crash site later that evening, Brown said, strangers had already left candles and stuffed animals in RJ's honor.

Hundreds of neighbors came out for a balloon release the following day. His youth football team, RMG Elites, retired his jersey ― No. 21. Most days she can’t leave the house without someone approaching her to offer a hug.

Residents of the 19th Ward had been worried about visibility and speed on Thurston Road for years, according to people in the community. Within days of Ryan's death, neighbors started a petition that calls for traffic safety upgrades near the intersection where he was killed. Brown and other community members attended City Council meetings last month to advocate for the changes.

“I’m trying to find the positive in this situation,” Brown said. “Everybody’s like, you know, I’m not quite sure how you’re so strong, or how you’re pushing through. And I’m just like ― the strength of my son.

“Just listening to his little voice telling me, ‘Mommy, you’re strong. You’ve got this, Mommy.’ It’s just ― that’s what I’m holding onto. It’s something that he told me on the regular.”

Ryan Grantham Jr.: A ritual of grief that will never end

Mourning all of that ― all of what Ryan was ― is a process for the whole family. Brown alone is left with the added weight of trying to hold the fragile pieces together.

RJ's father was granted an eight-hour release from jail for the boy's funeral. He was incredibly close with his namesake and spent the entire day standing next to RJ’s casket, Brown said.

She ushered friends and family to his side that day, sacrificing her own comfort for his because the thought of Big Ryan returning to his cell to mourn in solitude was too hard to bear. He calls home every evening, she said, but it's hard to speak through loss.

Their two daughters are quieter, turning inward, Brown said. She found one of them writing letters to RJ about how much she misses him.

Brown asked her sister to move in because the silence when the two girls are out of the house scares her.

“I have my days where I want to be in bed, where I don’t want to move,” she said. “I have days where I have a burst of energy. I have days where I want to be quiet. I have days where I want to smile. I don’t know. No day is a good day. No day is a bad day. It’s just ― I’m coasting. I’m coasting."

There is no such thing as a new "normal," Brown said. There is just this.

So each morning, she returns to Ryan’s bedroom. To the toys she hasn't put away. To the clothes she refuses to wash. To everything.

Sometimes she sprays his cologne to smell him again. She says his name out loud. She looks for something green to wear that matches her green acrylic nails and a strip of her hair dyed the same color.

And she waits for a sign from her son: A red cardinal in the backyard or his voice filling the room when she bumps her phone and sets off old audio and video recordings.

Apparently, you see me, kid, she tells him. You see me. I see you.

Kayla Canne reports on community justice and safety efforts for the Democrat and Chronicle. Get in touch at kcanne@gannett.com or on Twitter @kaylacanne.

This article originally appeared on Rochester Democrat and Chronicle: Ryan Grantham Jr.'s death leaves mother, 19th Ward heartbroken