Dear JM,
Three days ago was the sixth anniversary of your death. It is strange to realize this, but you’ve now been dead longer than I knew you–we met in May of 2003 and you died in May of 2008. You were only in my life for five years, but I’m happy for all of them, even the tough ones.
You were tall, good looking, outgoing, educated, eloquent, charming and ridiculously smart. Things come pretty easily to people like you. I used to be resentful that things came to you so easily, because it never allowed you to learn how to work hard (and hence you didn’t know how to when circumstances called on some focus and hard work). Now I just smile and am grateful that I got to witness such a clever brain at work on a daily basis.
JM, I’m still laughing at you rocking your shoulders back and forth looking like such a white dude when dancing. I know you didn’t care at all. That was the thing about you, you weren’t shy and didn’t care about looking stupid — you never did look stupid though, you could pull off being an expert at anything – you just pretended like you were skilled in whatever it was and people lined up to follow you like little ducklings following a mama duck.
I’ll never forget the night when the neighbors across the street had yet another loud after-party at 3am on a week night. The thumping music woke me, even while wearing earplugs. You, of course, were fuming and marched straight across the street in a rage. You strode up to their front door and pounded on that thing until some drunk idiot opened it and saw all 6’3″ of you standing there, dressed in a green plaid robe and galoshes (it must have been raining that night). I could hear you yelling from the bedroom, and then the music went quite. You came back and said that after you finished chewing them out and the music stopped, someone quipped “nice robe” as you turned to head back home. We laughed our heads off about that. Later, after you were gone and one of those degenerate neighbors reached out to me, I learned that it was that night that you were dubbed “angry robe guy”. You would have loved that.
You always knew exactly what to do when I hurt myself. Whether I had broken a bone in a crash, or just skinned my knee when the dog yanked me off a the seat of some crappy little scooter I was using to make her run, you always knew if I needed medical attention or just a hug. You weren’t a worrier at all but you knew when to show concern.
I learned a lot from you, JM. Yes, you told me all kinds of facts and trivia about everything under the sun, but I learned more by the example you set (both good and bad!), though maybe those lessons will be for another post. At any rate, know that I still and will always carry those lessons with me. Thank you.
Me
Britt at Large 