Written by John's sister, Robin
At the hospital, the nurse asked me if John and I were really close growing up. I was taken aback by the question, so I answered without thinking, "No . . . we took different paths." Immediately, I knew my answer was wrong. I should have said, "Yes. We followed each other around nearly everywhere."
Childhood Years
Our mom often told the story of John's first day of school. We were living in Denver, Colorado, and the school was just a couple of blocks from our home. I don't recall if John was walking to school alone (which would have been perfectly acceptable at that time) or if Mom was walking him to school, but she says that I started walking after him. That I, too, wanted to go to school. Generally this story was told to demonstrate that my love of school started really young, but, in light of our lives, this story better demonstrates the love I had for my big brother.
While our dad, who was in the U.S. Air Force, was stationed in Turkey, Mom was taking care of three kids and working full-time. John had some attention deficit problems and wasn't doing well in school, so Mom sent John to Arkansas to live with his biological dad. Several months later, Mom and our dad divorced, and I was sent to my maternal grandparents for the summer. I loved spending time with my grandparents, whatever the reason, but I was most excited about this time because John was living just down the road from my grandparents, and I missed him.
John didn't want to continue living with his biological dad, but Mom didn't think she could handle him in her life at the time. Therefore, my grandparents offered to adopt John, and John agreed. We spent our summer days camping, helping our grandparents build their retirement home and exploring the Ozarks. The summer was coming to an end, and I would be leaving John. I can't recall the conversations John and I had, but we agreed that I, too, would be adopted by our grandparents and continue living with them and John.
My mom would visit every month, and I missed her dearly. So, on one of those visits, I sneaked a note into her suitcase, asking to come live with her. When she next visited, I remember John and I huddled at the top of the stairs to our rooms, listening to the adults speak below. I hadn't told John I wanted to leave, and he felt betrayed and scared/sad that I would go without him. But, the adults resolved that both John and I would go live with our mom in Kansas City.
Young Adult Years
The teen years intervened. I did my thing - excelling at school and getting accepted at, then attending, Northwestern University, and John did his thing - flunking at school and stealing stereos out of unoccupied, parked cars, which landed him in prison for a few years.
When John was released, I was living in Chicago, and I agreed that he could come live with me until he got settled. And, he did for a few weeks. He kept his room meticulous and, every morning, he would shower, put on nice slacks, a button down and stiff dress shoes, and spend the day walking the streets of Chicago looking for a job. His resilience showed even then. He finally did get a job as an auto mechanic and moved into an apartment with our younger brother, who moved to Chicago to be with John.
We couldn't make it home to family that first Thanksgiving together. Instead, our mom sent a care package with canned ham and other shelf-stable food items and we met at my apartment for our Thanksgiving meal. The three of us then headed to a local bar and just hung out. It was a really good holiday.
Soon after, I moved to Houston for a change of scenery and to be around our mom. Within a few months, John and our younger brother also moved to Houston and we were all living within a few blocks of one another, but young adult life intervened. and we didn't see each other very often. John and our younger brother started driving long-haul trucks until John discovered the pull of drugs. For his own emotional health, my younger brother went his own way and John took to the streets. Meanwhile, I moved to California, found a great career and got married.
Adulthood
I was nearing the end of my sabbatical - just two weeks left - and had planned on spending that time researching the health of coral reefs in Puerto Rico. I had just arrived in Puerto Rico and was going through my check-out dive, when I got a call that John had been in an accident and I should fly to Houston. The accident resulted in John becoming a quadriplegic at the age of 35.
During those first few weeks -- thanks to a lot of airline miles that I had saved up and a friend who allowed me to stay in her home in Houston -- I was able to spend a lot of time with John in the hospital.
The story that stands out the most for me, and one of the stories that I think best describes who John was, is when I accompanied him to his first occupational therapy session. John and I sat on one side of table. Next to us was the occupational therapist and across was a woman who might have been a few years younger than John who was also a quadriplegic. As the occupational therapist showed John and this young woman the adaptive tools for eating and drinking, John tried everything and made jokes about his failures, about current events, and whatever struck his mind. He dribbled. He spilled. He accidentally flipped things across the room. He was game for the challenge – it was just something that needed to be done. The young woman across from him tried nothing, said nothing. She was so obviously in a bad, emotional place.
I firmly believe that John's attitude was a result of, one, him having faced so many challenges in his life that he had had the opportunity to practice getting up from falling down over and over and over. This was just another challenge. Two, John was with family again. He had family members asking him how he was doing, hanging out with him, caring for him. And, after being on the streets for a few years, this meant the world to him. He referred to his time after his accident as his second chance, a bonus.
For the 21 years John was a quadriplegic, we texted and called one another. In the years after our mother's death, John would visit me in California, and my family would visit him in Houston. He took amazing pride in my accomplishments and in my children. But, life happens so quickly, especially with three children and a legal career, and the visits stopped. John could no longer travel easily and it became more difficult to travel to him because of our active life. I suppose when someone dies, the natural reaction is to wish you had had more time to ensure they knew deep, deep inside that you loved them to the heavens and back, and I wish we had had one more visit to him.
Goodbye
As I said goodbye to John the night he passed, I told him how much I loved him, how much I really liked him, and how so very proud I was of him. John made some bad decisions as a young man, but we are so much more than the mistakes we make. John was strong and resilient in his life, but he was also kind, thoughtful, funny and oh so friendly. He approached life with such joy and I will always have an image of him 'racing' his wheelchair around the city of Houston.
John never gave up, but his body was tired from having worked so hard for so many years. I am comforted in picturing John free of physical pain and fully embraced with all the love that exists in heaven, but my world is a little dimmer without him.