Glen Rudd

Hello, Class of Eastonians ’84...

Renata Angela Millet-Rigali has been my best friend since we were two and a half years old. Our bond was started in a special program for the deaf and hard of hearing in pre-school, and we’ve been inseparable ever since. From elementary to high school, we shared classrooms, experiences, and countless memories that have shaped our lives. Even as adults, our friendship remained strong, a testament to our unique connection. Though we learned American Sign Language at different paces, it eventually became our shared, fluent language—a vital part of who we were.

Our days at East High were filled with mischief and laughter, the kind that only best friends can create together. We were so close that many thought we were more than just friends, but the truth is, our lives were our own, and we loved keeping people guessing. We sluffed many times, and most of the time, we were never caught.

One of my favorite memories with Angela took place in Mr. Perry’s Graphic Arts class. He was a good teacher, but his lecture was a blur to us. Mr. Perry had a habit of pacing around the room as he spoke, making it impossible for us to read his lips or follow along. So, instead, Angela and I had our own little conversation, using a mix of ASL and lip-reading to keep ourselves entertained.

At one point, Angela showed me one of her drawings. She was an impeccable artist, and I always admired her work. But this time, as I looked at her sketch, I was amazed—I told her that it looked unmistakably like a... well, let’s just say it resembled a male body part. Angela stared at it, shocked, as the realization hit her too. I suggested she leave it as is, just for fun, but she was horrified at the thought of her mother finding it. “What if I leave it lying around, and my mom sees it?” she whispered. “She’ll ask what I’m drawing, and I’ll have to say, ‘A horse.'" The two of us were in a burst of uncontrollable laughter, struggling to keep our composure while Mr. Perry glanced over, clearly aware of our experiences but choosing to let us be. That’s why he was one of our favorite teachers—he understood us, let us be ourselves, and never made us feel out of place.

I miss Angela deeply. She was always there for me, even when life wasn’t easy, and our friendship had its ups and downs. I feel compelled to share something that the obituary understated: in my and her family's eyes, Angela was murdered. The date of her passing was wrong too—she left us on January 22nd, 2020. 

Posted on: Jul 31, 2014 at 10:27 PM