Pain of Son’s Murder Lives On

Grace and Robert Navarro had lived for 21 years in a quiet Buena Park neighborhood where they’d reared three children who had never been in any serious trouble.

In spite of all the crime they had read about in the newspapers, they felt safe in their world. Violence had never directly touched their lives.

Then at 4 a.m. on Jan. 12 came a phone call that shattered their sense of security and serenity.

Grace, still half asleep when she picked up the phone, first thought--and later prayed--that someone was playing an ugly practical joke.

“If this is a crank call, you’re sick,” she said when the stranger on the line told her that her son, Bobby, was in a hospital in Riverside and that she must come immediately.

Grace put the phone down and went downstairs to check on 20-year-old Bobby, a Cypress College student who still lived by his parents’ rules and rarely stayed out past 1 a.m.

Grace was certain he would be in bed, as he always was at this hour. But he wasn’t.

Grace returned to the phone, determined to get an explanation from this woman who said she was the mother of one of Bobby’s friends.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Grace kept asking until the woman finally blurted it out: “Bobby’s dead.”

He had been murdered, Grace’s husband, Robert, found out when he called the hospital and talked to the coroner. Bobby had been stabbed in the chest just after midnight while sitting in his car in a Riverside parking lot near Tyler Mall.

The area was a popular cruising spot where other violent incidents had occurred in the past few years, but Bobby’s family said he did not hang out there regularly and probably did not sense danger when he followed friends there after attending a birthday party in Cerritos.

“Bobby was never fearful. He thought nothing could ever hurt him,” says his sister, Theresa Lopez, 31.

A spokesman for the Riverside Police Department said a warrant has been issued for the arrest of suspect Joseph R. Avila, 21, of Corona. A hunting-type knife was used to kill Bobby and Raul Moncada, 18, of Stanton. A third victim, a 17-year-old Stanton resident who survived, was stabbed once in the arm.

The police spokesman said no motive has been established for the killings, which apparently occurred in the midst of an argument that didn’t involve either of the victims.

Although it wasn’t clear whether the argument was gang-related, police said neither of the victims had been involved with gangs.

“They walked into something that had already started, and they were in the wrong place at the wrong time,” said Robert Navarro, who is 44 and works as an irrigation specialist at Cal State Fullerton.

Nearly eight months after Bobby’s death, the Navarros still have few details about what happened that night, and they don’t expect to be able to put the whole story together--or to find any peace of mind--until the person who killed their son is arrested and brought to trial.

“There are so many pieces missing to this puzzle,” says Grace, a 45-year-old Cal State Fullerton custodian.

Robert calls Riverside police at least once a week to find out whether there is any new information and to make sure his son’s case is still getting attention.

He said he is also trying to persuade the producers of “America’s Most Wanted” to help find Joseph Avila by telling Bobby’s story in a segment of the TV program. (Police describe the suspect as 5 feet, 6 inches tall, weighing 145 pounds, with “Sur” tattooed on his right forearm and “Corona” tattooed on his back. Anyone with information should call (714) 782-5543.)

Meanwhile, the Navarros--including Bobby’s 19-year-old brother, Anthony, as well as Grace, Robert, Theresa and her 3-year-old daughter, Ashley--are struggling to cope with a grief that is nearly as raw today as it was the night Bobby died.

“We haven’t accepted his death,” says Grace, who did most of the talking while her husband quietly fought back tears during a two-hour interview in their home. “I can’t accept it, and I’ll never accept it until they catch the man who killed him.”

Raul Moncada’s mother, Maria Luisa Paredes of Stanton, says she has not been able to accept her son’s death either.

“We don’t know really what happened,” she said by phone in her halting English. “People tell me different stories. I’m very sick every day. I try, but it’s very hard.”

Jeanne Preble, a therapist who advises the Orange County chapter of Parents of Murdered Children, says it’s common for families of murder victims to put off dealing with their grief as they are waiting for the case to be resolved in court.

“The only thing that gives them any kind of comfort--and it’s poor comfort--is justice,” says Preble, who practices in Fullerton and Irvine. “The person who did this to their child has to stand publicly and be accused and pay for what he’s done.

“That won’t bring back their child, but it’s all they can do--and it makes them feel connected to their child to see that justice is done. But often grieving gets lost in this process and can’t be finished until the justice system is finished.”

The Navarros, who place fresh flowers on Bobby’s grave every Sunday and often return during the week, admit that they are still in shock and that they have a hard time talking with one another about their loss.

They have left Bobby’s room exactly as it was the last time they saw him. It was a day during Christmas vacation that he had spent at home with his family, watching “Lady and the Tramp” with Ashley, chatting with his mother when she wasn’t feeling well and helping his sister with the housework.

The varsity jacket he earned as a freshman wrestler at Buena Park High School hangs in the closet, and his wrestling medals and Little League trophies and team photos are still on display.

On the dresser are a picture of Ashley and the certificate he proudly received from Cypress College last December for his training in automotive damage appraisal. Also on display are some stuffed animals high school friends had given him when he had back surgery after suffering an injury that, to his great disappointment, had forced him to quit football.

Grace says she has trouble even now believing that Bobby isn’t going to walk through the door at the end of the day or come home for lunch as he often did and make macaroni and cheese and hot dogs to share with Ashley.

“Sometimes I don’t even want to come home, because Bobby used to always be here when I’d come home from work, and he loved to talk,” Grace says. “The house is very quiet now.

“When my son died, part of me died too.”

Theresa, who is separated from her husband and has lived at home since Ashley was an infant, says she has had many nightmares from which she has awakened in tears, wondering if Bobby was really gone.

The family also lives with a fear that the man who killed Bobby will somehow try to hurt them. Grace says that for a long time after Bobby died, she was afraid to leave her house.

Preble, who has helped a number of parents through their grief, says the loss goes beyond the death of a child when murder is involved.

“There is such an instinctive thing in us that says no human being can take someone else’s life. We watch it happen on TV and read about it, but there is a barrier that keeps us from believing it can happen to us,” she says.

“It’s like we’re in a mental Garden of Eden. And then it happens to us, and we’re kicked out of the garden and we can never return. We’re never the same after that. There’s an innocence gone that we can never retrieve. Many people feel exposed and unprotected, and they never have that sense of being safe again. It’s something they have to learn to live with.”

Grace says her greatest comfort since Bobby’s death has been Ashley, who seems to sense the depth of her pain.

Not long after Bobby died, Ashley told Grace, “Grandma, I went to heaven and saw my nino (godfather) Bobby and asked him to come home because you cry a lot for him.”

Later, Ashley concluded: “The angels won’t send him home. He’s happy with the angels. They need him to work on their cars.”

Ashley was Bobby’s “pride and joy,” Grace says, recalling that the precocious little girl used to follow her uncle/godfather around the house and wait for him at the front door.

This large man--he was 6 feet, 1 inch tall and weighed 280 pounds--had a streak of tenderness in him that matched his size. Theresa says Bobby never got angry with Ashley--not even the time she gave him a haircut while he was sleeping.

Ashley’s spontaneous outbursts often expose the pain the rest of the family is less able to express openly.

The little girl is speaking for all Bobby’s loved ones when she wakes up in tears in the middle of the night, stretches out her arms toward the sky and pleads: “Please, Nino, take me to heaven. I miss you so much.”

Are you a 50-plus worker with a much younger boss? If so, how did you learn to take orders graciously from someone young enough to be your kid? Send your comments to Relationships, Orange County View, The Times, 1375 Sunflower Ave., Costa Mesa, Calif. 92626. Please include a phone number. Your contribution to the column, which appears every Wednesday, will remain anonymous upon request.