This is my favorite picture of John. It looks the most like I remember him. The glass of wine in the foreground is more like his wife A's; he stopped drinking alcohol and caffeine when he first went through chemo in 2005.This picture was blown up (along with half a dozen others) inside the UT Alumni Center, where John's memorial service was held this past Sunday. S & I walked over and got there at about a quarter to 2:00, right before it was scheduled to start. There were lots of people there -- people from the Dance group; people from UT; people from the Web Accessibility group which John had a huge hand in creating and maintaining over the years; friends; family; etc. Some were milling about in their cliquish little groups, some were crossing over into other groups, some were lined up along the left wall behind a table, writing on long strips of colorful paper and weaving them into a yarn hanging, an artsy little prayer/wish/memorial thing.
When I saw the pictures on tripods inside the entryway, it warmed my heart to see John in various phases of his life -- at the Kennedy Center to perform in a dance piece with his guide dog, Dillon; on a beach with A; etc. When I saw the above picture, it hit me: John's gone. My good friend who cracked me up so much, who struggled through this illness, struggled through treatments with such aplomb and level-headed assuredness. I was there to get him from one appointment to the next during his 2006 - 2007 Houston hospital stay, and I was there after that to organize his medicines into baggies so that it would be easier for him to take the right ones at the right times. But I felt like I was also there to offer some comic relief. John loved to laugh, and it didn't seem like there was a situation too uncomfortable or degrading in which he couldn't roll his eyes (his blind eyes) and cut that smile (the one pictured above) and let everybody know it was okay. It wasn't okay, but it was okay.
I don't think most of the different communities that John was a part of interacted with the others; some of the people probably didn't even realize that some of the others of John's circles even existed. I was in a rare and enviable position, having spent so much time with him in the hospital and in his house, when people came to visit, to have met a lot of the people from the various communities. I didn't always feel comfortable socially around these people, but that wasn't really the point; I could tell that they appreciated the fact that I was there helping John, that they were comforted in knowing that he was being taken care of by someone they knew or didn't know, but someone who was obviously fond of him, because I was very fond of John.
Had I known what a mover and shaker, what an intellectual, what a geek John was, I think I might have been intimidated by him, at least before I got to know him. I didn't know him at all the first time I went over to their house to volunteer my time. I barely knew him, anyway, had only seen him a handful of times at the Dance group where we met. I had worked out an agreement with the company that employs me that allowed me more free time, more flexibility in my schedule. I decided I wanted to volunteer my time; less than two weeks after I made that internal decision, after I had started looking into hospices and other places where I could volunteer my time (which would be enriching for me as well), LR made an announcement at Dance that John & A were in need of helpers. I didn't know LR very well at the time either; she is this kind of Mother Earth hippie love spectacle thing who is at once frightening and delightful (until you get to know her, and then the fright quickly melts away). Similarly, all intimidation on the part of John disappears about thirty seconds into your first conversation with him.
The first time I went to their house to sit with John, to read with him or whatever, John wasn't feeling well. The first day I was there, instead of being able to help, John had to go to the hospital right away, and he was there for a couple of weeks (months?). This was shortly before the bone marrow transplant. And so I didn't volunteer at their house, I volunteered at Seton Hospital here in Austin, and then I spent three days a week at MD Anderson in Houston during the BMT.
It was nice to see all of John's circles in one place on Sunday, though it was a heartbreaking experience for all of us. I saw P, the blind woman who reminds me of one of my great aunts on my father's side. She taught John to read braille back when he first needed it. I met her at a dance performance -- an homage to Elvis called "The King & I" -- performed by Allison Orr (the choreographer of the piece that took John and Dillon to the Kennedy Center). P and John had headphones and a "professional describer" on the sidelines of the audience describing to them the dance moves onstage while they listened to the music and audience reactions to color in the piece more fully.
Knowing John was an interesting experience. At first I felt guilty that, as a writer, one of my big reasons for wanting to be around John was because he was blind. I had never known a blind person, had never known what they experience, how they see the world, so to speak, I was curious. Of course, when I share my guilt about this to friends, they always assure me that what I did was a good thing; both John and I got a lot out of the experience. I know that in my heart.
The memorial service was a full two hours. S had to go home directly afterward to study for school. For a second I thought I would stay at the alumni center and mingle, but my social awkwardness kicked in and I found myself making a quick getaway. In fact, I somehow got ahead of S and found him coming up behind me halfway home.
I was starving and talked myself into going to the BBQ in John's honor at the Salt Lick Pavilion in Driftwood, Texas, half an hour from Austin. It was supposed to start at 5:00; I got there at a quarter to 6:00 and was one of the first to arrive. Yikes! I managed to get through conversations with different people I kinda sorta know, and then, when the food was finally served (vegetarian option was pasta with veggies, but I also had lots of cole slaw, potato salad, red beans and bread -- and later chocolate cake), I found myself hanging onto M, and she onto me; we spent the rest of the evening pretty much in each other's company.
I had mentioned to her that I smoke a cigarette once in awhile, and towards the end of the evening, a group of five or six of us were out at my truck in the mostly emptied parking lot, me rolling three cigarettes (which sounds really "cool") in a cigarette rolling machine (which is really "dorky"), all of us laughing and enjoying each other.
I only smoked a couple puffs of the cigarette I'd rolled for myself because I realized I don't really like to smoke in front of other people. Not because of the guilt -- as M put it regarding another friend of ours who doesn't smoke in front of other people -- but more because I really enjoy sitting on my porch contemplating the universe and sucking in a little nicotine. And that's what I did. I came home, rolled myself a fresh, thin cigarette, sat on the front porch and let the memories of John wash over me.
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