Where’s Jon when I need him most?
Not here, that’s for sure.
My husband passed away in February and took the family encyclopedia with him. All kinds of fun facts, handy info, and beloved family stories went with him.
Like:
How do I make a reservation on Airbnb?
How much did our new stone patio cost? And where the heck’s the paperwork?
Where in your office do I find the thriller novel you finished two weeks before you died? The one with the dodgy Secret Service agent?
And how about the one with the dramatic chase scene through the bowels of the sewage treatment plant — did you ever finish it? Do you want it published? Or do I throw it back in its drawer?
He Took the Encyclopedia
Where are you when I need you — like when I want to order dinner at the Himalayan take-out place. Is it the paneer I like? Or the biryani? You knew. I don’t.
You were the repository of important facts and information. (Who assassinated JFK?) But you were also the keeper of some enduring family stories.
For example, what exactly did you say to the five-year-old Peter when he asked why his birth mother had given him up? What did he say? I wasn’t there. I can’t tell that story.
A Frog or a Duck?
As for Christina, when she was born, you said she looked like a frog? Or did you say she looked like a duck?
I never needed to keep track of stuff like that. I could ask you. You were always there to tell the story. To order the biryani. To make the Airbnb reservation.
You had all this info stashed in your brain, and you took it with you when you went away.
Will I Forget Jon?
Now three months into widowhood, I worry that, without Jon’s help, I’ll forget the essential family facts and stories.
I worry that I’ll forget Jon.
Not the big fact of his existence, but the small facts, the gestures, the quirks, the jokes.
The little things that made Jon Jon. How his voice boomed when he got on the phone with his brother. His posture when he attacked a crossword puzzle.
The way his upper lip curled over his lower lip when he was having a big thought. (Or was it the other way around? Bottom lip over top?)
How do I hold on to these small things if Jon’s not here to keep them here?
For a nice picture of Jon working on a crossword puzzle go to “Retired Is a State of Mind. Six Ways to Know If You’re There Yet.” Some thoughts on art at “The Downside of Things Beautiful. From the Mighty Rose to the Humble Daisy.”
Oh Barbara I am so sad for you. Your writings about Jon are full of love and made me smile. While I only met him briefly at the book fair I was pleasantly surprised that he treated me like an old friend. What an engaging and lovely man he was.
Thank you, Lynn. You got a very good sense of Jon, imo. He was my best friend.
btw, I hope to be traveling to your neighborhood some time in the coming months, maybe to celebrate my 80th (!!!) birthday.
All those “little” memories are often the most precious. Sometimes I quickly turn on my phone to record something Pavel is saying so I can share with our children. But I’m sure there are some I’ve missed.
I believe that you will remember them from time to time, a surprise gift from Jon to you. xxx. Joy
A surprise gift — I like that.
Don’t worry, Barbara, those little things, those elusive memories pop up from time to time, sometimes when you least expect them. You won’t forget Jon .
Good to know. Thanks, Ann. That’s reassuring.
Dear Barbara, touching and beautiful….
Thanks for listening, Jan.
Oh Barbara these new blogs are so touching and so heartbreaking. Love to you. N.
Thank you, Nancy. More to come, I’m afraid.