I was sitting at my desk one day about a month ago, trying to work, when the idea for this blog came to me quite suddenly. I can't claim to have good ideas very often, but it felt like an epiphany. With life trying to get back to (a new) normal, I had been worrying that memories of Jon would start to fade, time to process the magnitude of his death was feeling increasingly limited, and I was failing miserably at my attempts to stay connected with all of the people who were also grieving the loss of Jon. A blog seemed to offer the promise of helping with all of those struggles. A blog is like a journal, a well known healing tool, but on the practical side, a blog is also an efficient way to share information with a lot of people. Plus, Jon had such an extraordinary appreciation for the written word, a blog felt like an incredibly befitting way to honor him. Then, the doubt started creeping in. What if no one reads it? What if everyone reads it? What if it's not what I imagined it to be? What if it just adds to the sadness we're all feeling? You see, Jon and I were cut from the same cloth, and I too have the tendency to get tied up in knots over something that feels so important and can become paralyzed by the fear that it will never be good enough. But those fears somehow fueled me with determination to conquer them in his honor. After all, I told myself, at the very least, it will be cathartic for me to try and corral some of the thoughts and feelings swirling around inside me and get them on paper. And I can't help feeling like it would make Jon proud - I can actually picture the sympathetic smirk he'd have on his face if I could tell him about it. So here I am - putting it all out there, yes, for myself, but also with the hope that those who knew and loved Jon will also gain something from it, and maybe even contribute something to it. I hope too that it will kindle and sustain the connection we all felt to each other in the days and weeks immediately following Jon's death. The burden of sadness and pain are much heavier to carry alone, and if we can learn anything from Jon's death, perhaps one of the most poignant of lessons is to lean more on each other and share the load. So, I look forward to sharing parts of my healing journey with you, and hope you will walk it with me. In that process, may we honor Jon, and ensure that he truly does live on.
Dear Jen,
ReplyDeleteI feel devastated having just learned of Jon's death. I am truly sorry you have lost your little brother. First, let me say thank you for finding the strength to Put it out There and give me someone to reach out to. Words somehow seem like such an inadequate vehicle to express such swirling emotions, but like you, I too will try to find the right ones. Second, let me explain who I am. I met Jon at UMass Boston in, I think, 1993. We sat next to each other on the first day of a philosophy class called Socrates, Buddah and Jesus. Jon spent the next few weeks trying to convince me I should go out with him even if he was younger than me, he was 21 and I was 24. We dated for several years, on and off, but more importantly we became close friends. I met you a few times at your home in Ipswich and remember Joy, Rena and your father. Jon and I lost touch around 2000.
Recently, Jon began to enter my thoughts frequently and then he began to enter my dreams. I woke up about two weeks ago and decided to google his name...
Since then, the memories have come flooding back fueled by a stack of hand written letters Jon sent me on his various journeys throughout his twenties. The winter Jon was in Durango,CO I went to visit him. One of the most important moments in my life happened on that trip. Jon introduced me to yoga and gave me my first yoga book. I was fascinated by that book and slowly developed a regular yoga practice because of it. I have carried that book around with me for almost twenty years, it was in my car the morning I learned of Jon's death. I now practice yoga every morning and teach my own classes. Yoga is one of the greatest joys of my life. I never got to share that with Jon, but wanted his family to know just how much he touched my life.
Heather - of course I remember you, and I cannot tell you how much your post means to me (and I'm sure others). I had been hestiant to publicize the blog, but when I saw your post, it gave me the reassurance that it will be exactly what I wanted it to be - a way to give Jon eternal life, and a way to connect those of us who loved him. Thank you for that. I am blown away by the fact that he gave you the gift of yoga, and at the same time devastated that he didn't use the gift himself to find the peace and joy that it can provide. Your message also gave me the realization that the impact he made on this world is probably greater than any one of us can comprehend. Recently, out of fear that the grief might swallow me whole, I started doing yoga again. When I find it an effort, which is the case with most things these days, I will find inspiration in your story and of course, think of Jon. Thank you again, Heather.
DeleteJen
ReplyDeleteThe other day when "fluffernutters" were mentioned & I told you I remember a time when That was all Jon would eat I thought how great it was to be remembering him! This is such a good idea on so many levels. My first blog experience. Thanks for creating the opportunity to recall and share our thoughts and memories!
Carol - your post just made me remember that when we were kids and went to restaurants, Jon would order "a half a hamburger" because he knew he couldn't eat a whole one. He sure was precise. And guess what? Facebook is really like one big blog, so don't consider yourself inexperienced :)
DeleteI am so glad you wrote this blog. It is so important to keep Jon's memory alive and I for one think of him as still being with us (which he is) so let's keep talking about him. I still read things I think he would like because he still inspires me. I still think about keeping him warm (as I told you was our private joke) and I can't walk by a coffee machine without thinking about him. I look at my back deck and can see him skiing off the railing and can hear his funny laugh (it really was funny). I look forward to reading other memories.
ReplyDeleteThanks,
I love you Jon
Also I remember Heather. Thank you Heather for sharing your story.
ReplyDeleteJennifer,
ReplyDeleteWhat a brilliant idea to do this! So fitting for Jon to be remembered through the written word! Like my mom, this is my first blogging experience. Admitting this is not easy considering I live in Silicon Valley... I don't have anything profound to say today but wanted simply to contribute a little story with the hope that many of us will do so regularly. I thought of Jon today too. It was because I think of him everytime I think of soccer. Jon was not the biggest sports fan in the history of the world but he gave me a book called "A Season With Verona". It details a guys adventure following his favorite Italian soccer team. It gave Jon (and me) a great appreciation for the game and the insane loyalty of the fans. Today when I snuck a peak at the US Women's Gold Metal victory over Japan (my co-worker Ayako is from guess where, and we had a little wager going) I thought of Jon. Then the flood of memories of him began to seep in as they still do these days. Jon was so fascinated by the human spirit (no matter what race, religion, etc) that he couldn't get enough of the stories about people to satisfy his curiousity. I love that this blog is here because like you, Jen, I don't ever want the memories of Jon to fade. thank you, Love Jeff
Dear Anonymous :),
DeleteThanks for your story. I love hearing about the books that Jon gave people, because that tells a story of its own. Hmmm, that might be a good topic for a future blog post. You jogged a recent memory of mine - when we were in Florida this year, sitting by the pool, Jon overheard some old men talking about hockey. The next thing I know, he's sitting at the table with them, having the most in depth and of course intellectual sports conversation I had ever heard. I remember thinking, holy crap, is there anything this kid isn't knowledgable about? And of course, those old men probably never discussed philosophy and hockey in the same sitting, until Jon came along that is.
Did you notice I am so bad at blogging that I don't know how to post with my name; I guess I'll be "anonymous"
ReplyDeleteTo post with your name, in the "Reply as:" list, you can select Name/URL, and just enter your name (URL isn't required).
DeleteI remember Heather too even though she has no idea who I am. I was always close with Jon and talked of relationships with him often. For Jon Heather was the one that got away.
ReplyDeleteI was in constant contact with the "Gurman". We were friends since 3rd grade - for nearly 30 years. Rarely a week or month went by where we weren't discussing music, politics, philosophy, chicks and, well, chicks again! His last written words to me - and we shared written words often - were sent on March 9th, 2012:
"I owe you a call. Peace. Love. Hairgrease"
hearkening back to our mutual love of crappy rap music from 20 plus years ago.
Jon was and IS a beautiful soul. He should be with us now shaking his head in mock disbelief at our admiration of him. He should be with us and made to know how we truly do love him. And how much. I wish everyday, including just hours ago, that he made the call he owed me. Love, peace and hairgrease, my brother.
I do remember you Willard, I just had no idea your parents gave you a first name :) Jon spoke of you all the time.
ReplyDeleteI can remember his laugh also, and remember he smelled like coconut because he liked to use Skin Trip Coconut Moisturizer. I can picture how hard he would laugh knowing I can recall that.
Jon,
ReplyDeleteYou keep showing up in my dreams. Well that's not true, you showed up just once in one ridiculously vivid dream that shook me to my core. I guess I want it to be a recurring dream because it was so real it felt like a memory, and my memories of you are so fucking precious now. I'm afraid of forgetting.
You know those dreams in which you are actively trying to do something, like kicking a ball or pulling a lever, but you seem to be held back by something and rendered impotent? The frustration of these instances usually wakes me up violently and trundles me into a depressed state. In this particular dream we were hanging out as if it were 10-15 years ago (sadly, the last period of time when we regularly could hang out), and the ease of our companionship was so fluid it was unnoticeable. Yet as we laughed, or made fun of each other, or discussed something grander, I suddenly remembered what you did, only I wasn't sure if you had done it yet. At this point that paralysis, that invisible hand, held my tongue and I was unable to ask you why. I knew I was on the brink of waking, the last thing I wanted to do, and I looked at you and you understood. You started the conversation. You said, “so I guess you heard I came to a decision.” You held my hand and I dropped to my knees. I said everything I wanted to say, everything I needed to say. Your eyes were kind and you were at peace, while I was floundering. But after I said my fill, and despite the fact that you never answered me, I was at peace too. Thank you for letting me speak, my brother. You're forever in my heart.
-Ivan