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In this episode of The 10 Ninety Podcast, Mason sits down with Kathi Lyman-Richmond to talk about her son Logan — an 18-year-old who loved GEZ, tattoos, hot tea, long drives, and making everyone around him feel like they mattered.
From the moment Logan was born premature at 26.5 weeks — on Kathi's own birthday — she carried a feeling she could never shake: that she would lose him young, in a car accident, in high school. She never let it stop her from letting him live.
They walk through Logan's last days. A fresh haircut. A trip to the grocery store where he quietly slipped outside to help an elderly woman load her car without being asked. Easter candy and one episode of a Netflix show the night before. One last long hug the morning he got his keys back — tighter than usual — and a big smile as he drove off to school and work. That evening, something pulled Kathi to check his location. The car wasn't moving. She drove to the scene and knew before anyone said a word.
What followed was grief in all its forms — the football coach who showed up in a big way, the close friends who quietly disappeared, the physical toll her body is still paying seven years later, and the signs she believes Logan still sends. They also read the poem written by Julian Grant, an 11th grader who somehow put Logan's light into words better than most adults could.
This one is honest, raw, and worth every minute.
"Sometimes you never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory." — Logan
By Mason Sawyer4.8
159159 ratings
In this episode of The 10 Ninety Podcast, Mason sits down with Kathi Lyman-Richmond to talk about her son Logan — an 18-year-old who loved GEZ, tattoos, hot tea, long drives, and making everyone around him feel like they mattered.
From the moment Logan was born premature at 26.5 weeks — on Kathi's own birthday — she carried a feeling she could never shake: that she would lose him young, in a car accident, in high school. She never let it stop her from letting him live.
They walk through Logan's last days. A fresh haircut. A trip to the grocery store where he quietly slipped outside to help an elderly woman load her car without being asked. Easter candy and one episode of a Netflix show the night before. One last long hug the morning he got his keys back — tighter than usual — and a big smile as he drove off to school and work. That evening, something pulled Kathi to check his location. The car wasn't moving. She drove to the scene and knew before anyone said a word.
What followed was grief in all its forms — the football coach who showed up in a big way, the close friends who quietly disappeared, the physical toll her body is still paying seven years later, and the signs she believes Logan still sends. They also read the poem written by Julian Grant, an 11th grader who somehow put Logan's light into words better than most adults could.
This one is honest, raw, and worth every minute.
"Sometimes you never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory." — Logan

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