Strange John

Strange John

A “knight in shining armor”, “Prince Charming”, "really strange", “helper in time of need”, “best friend anyone could have”, and "always pulled tricks on people", were some of the phrases used to describe John on the day of his memorial service. The officiating speaker had not known John personally so he suggested that others speak up to give their testimonials. The small town funeral home was so packed on September 3, 2000 with his loved ones, friends, and tree service customers, that there were people outside the building who weren’t able to hear all the individual testimonials of his character. Some of those friends paid honor by wearing two different colored socks or mismatched shoes on their feet. Everyone was given a whistle to blow at the appointed time. He'd always had his whistle with him, but on the day he died he didn't have time to blow the warning whistle. His motorcycle racing buddies were on their motorcycles waiting for the moment they would all crank up their engines and rev them up loudly in unison like a harmonious Beethoven symphony.

John had a phrase he used to say always with a confident smile on his face. “You can do it.” Whether it was related to a decision about my new job or racing on a mountain bike down a hill against other women twenty years younger than I was, he’d say, “You can do it.” Those words are in my memory forever as if a cattle branding iron had burned them in, encouraging me whenever I need that boost of confidence.

In looking back to the day he died, the common initial denial of tragedy swept over me as I heard the news of this freak accident killing my beloved John. I watched in horror on the television as his name was mentioned. His employee Brad told the media how the tree uprooted, fell over making no noises and landed right on John. I couldn’t believe it was real. Things like this always happened to other people, not me. We had done so many adventurous things together like diving with sharks; riding wave runners down the alligator infested Suwannee River in Florida, and motorcycle racing.

John’s friends and my family came around to be with me for support but still the feelings of denial and anger painfully flooded my chest. I wanted to go to his house and walk in the door as usual to see his welcoming smile. Instead of going to his home though, I found myself going with my family to the funeral home for visitation. Everything around me was so mechanical and surreal. With my three children right beside me, I walked through the door of the building and was greeted by Steve and his wife Carol. Steve had been John’s best friend since they were teenagers riding motorcycles together through the woods near South Cobb Drive, sometimes fleeing the police just for the fun of it.

As I walked into the hallway a very strange feeling of emptiness entered my heart like water being poured out of a cistern when I looked into the room on my left. I could see the top of John’s head in the casket, seeing his face only for a moment. It seemed as if all the blood in my body left me as lifeless as his. Noises of things falling around me drifted away as my limp body fell to the floor. People were talking but I was in another dimension, hearing them off in a distance. My oldest son David, who was strong as an ox, just picked me up like a helpless baby off the floor. With me safely in his arms and holding me tightly, he cried with me. When I came to, I actually felt John’s presence within me giving me energy, encouraging me as if he was telling me “You can do it.” With John’s empowering strength, I walked to his casket.

John’s thick, black, bristly hair was always kept short. He told me he wouldn’t let it get long because it was like a Brillo pad on top of his head. When he needed a haircut, I’d shave the hair off his head for him. Being the miser he was, he didn’t want to pay a barber either. John certainly didn’t want any gray hairs to be seen nor did he want to admit he needed eyeglasses. Sometimes between haircuts, I’d tweeze out any gray ones that I could see. On the day of his memorial service, I found myself rubbing his head, feeling his bristly hair albeit on a very cold scalp. Steve, his best friend asked me “I thought you kept all the gray hairs off his head?” Smilingly I replied “I did.” Obviously I’d overlooked just a few of them.

John taught me so many new things. With John I found the security and peace that I’d longed for all my life. I felt that I could “let myself go” into this person with one hundred percent trust of my life in his hands and no one would ever harm me again. The questions haunted me continuously. Why? Why now? How could you allow this to happen God? With John in my life, I’d begun to feel like things were “right” for the first time in my life.

John had been a scuba diver all his life. He told me stories of diving off the shores of Oregon with his dad and eating raw oysters while under water. That was so gross. He taught me to dive so we could enjoy diving together on our upcoming vacation near the Bahamas. Divers must always have a partner. That’s the rule in diving. You can’t dive alone. Now I felt like a single diver searching for my partner.

Steve and I took John’s ashes to Ginnie Springs, Florida to release them ceremoniously into the watery cave in honor of his passing. When I suited up for my last dive with John, my body would not go down. His friend Victor, another lifelong friend, added his weights onto my belt and helped me sink down where I could be at the cave entrance with Steve. As we released John’s ashes from the plastic Ziploc bags, his cloud of ashes floated away with the current. The heavier particles of his ashes floated down to the bottom into the sand to remain forever. Watching this release was the most beautiful scene of freedom rather than a life that could have potentially been lived for years in a paralytic condition. That would not have been life for John. It would have been more like purgatory for him.

Strangely, at the Ginnie Springs Cave, not only did I lose my dive watch as if time had stopped but I also found a very unique vehicle tag in the store. On my truck is a tag that has a hand-painted picture of a single diver on it. It was the only one like it in the store that day, obviously there just for me, now a single diver.

If there is any consolation in his death at all, it is that he doesn’t suffer daily from that tragic accident on August 31, 2000.

Strange John made such a strong and memorable impact in so many lives that his legacy still warms their hearts. They too, remember as I do, that we “can do it” when challenged with something we think we cannot do. John’s character of honesty, his positive energy, his strange humor, wearing mixed colors of socks and unmatching shoes on his feet, will long be remembered. Wonderful memories of John drive us, his loved ones, friends and customers, on through the obstacles of our lives. As he said to me when I had a job decision to make, “You don’t decide what’s right or wrong; you just make your choice then make it work for you. You have to finish the race. You have to go around the obstacles. You can do it.”