Remembering John

I'm still in shock about John's death. I loved him SO much. I can't believe it. Somehow, I always felt that we would come to understand each other with loving kindness. If we couldn't be together, we'd trade Christmas cards from our respective families.

I had a fantasy that I would open my blog and find a comment from him. A comment that was loving and accepting and emotionally generous.

But on this blog, I never portrayed him fully. I knew he wasn't perfect, but I felt like it wasn't fair to blog about his faults. They weren't mine to share. But I think to truly remember him, I need to truly remember him as I saw him.

John was SO smart. Scintillating brilliance. And it was a joy to watch him think, to be part of that whirlwind. That said, he relied more on his intellect than his empathy. He was far more committed to honesty than kindness. I think that his integrity was based on truth. I'll gladly omit truth to spare feelings. John, I think, would say that I should have the strength to face the unvarnished truth.

John was inconsistent. He confided in me that he thought he was losing his memory--he'd forget entire things, important things. He forgot about taking my ring. He'd completely forget things he told me. Sometimes I'd review our e-mails and think he was in a different world than mine and I'd have to review what he said to make sure I wasn't going crazy. (He had other health issues too--he thought he had the early signs of Parkinson's. I spoke with a doctor friend yesterday, and she thought he was probably having mini-strokes as his heart was failing; she believed that it would explain things.) That was a health issue, clearly. It also left me feeling crazy sometimes. Our first really big instance of this was talking about S&M. I said something like "if you're looking for reactions, and submission, then I can satisfy you. But if you're looking for exercise, if you want to swing your whip hard, I really can't." And he said "I want the exercise." And then he totally forgot saying that. I have the e-mail. But I can't bear to read them right now. I started and just started crying. Someday, I think our correspondence (heavily edited) would make a hell of a (short) book.

Last month, John was shocked when I told him I had loved him. I thought he was just being obtuse. (I don't think I took his fears about his memory seriously. I have other friends who are 'losing their memory' because they can't remember Sudoku without writing down possibilities. I don't think I realized the extent of what was going on for him.) I think John may have also forgotten that there was a time when he read my blog regularly and would comment to me about things on it, so it was probably natural I thought he would read it if he ever wanted more information.

I do wish the last thing he had said to me hadn't been "Wuss. ;)" because I hadn't told him I loved him before. When in fact I had.

John had been badly abused growing up. Like "state should have taken him away" abused. Like 'locked in the closet for a day because Satan was after him and not fed because God would feed him if he deserved it' abuse. And in my interpretation, John found it very hard to trust people. He once told me "you will never hurt me" after I said something like "Sooner or later, I'm going to fuck up and hurt you. I won't mean to. But I will." And I think what he said was true. No matter how much I fucked up, he would never let me close enough to hurt him.

I honestly think that he drove me away because I scared him. He went through a series of women who took financial advantage of him. He always paid for everything when we went out. He would never let me pair for anything. And he'd order me fancy meals because he knew me well enough to both know what I'd like and that I'd always order one of the three cheapest things on the menu. He protected and cherished me.

But the women before me had always taken money from him. Tens of thousands of dollars. I have to believe that the pattern existed because of the common denominator (John) and that he sought out relationships with people he didn't have to trust because they weren't trustworthy.

I honestly believe that John would have been more fulfilled, according to my subjective definitions of such things, with therapy. And perhaps, if he'd been willing, I'd be a widow right now.

I came perilously close to suicide last year, when he disappeared on me. Not that I would have gone through with it. But it was only the love I have for my family that kept me from doing it. I really couldn't see any joy in my life without John. And if I could have chosen the path for my life, I'd rather be a widow right now. I would love to have had a year and a half with John. But I don't know how I would be surviving right now if I had. Sure, I'd have friends and family and a network of support. But the intensity of my love for John was greater than I think I'll ever have again.

I loved you John.

I love you. I know you will never see the words of this. But I love you.

And I will never forget you. I hope like hell you aren't the great love of my life. But whether or not you are or not, I will always love you. Not maniacally. Not in a way that precludes others. But you touched me so deeply, and I will always love you.

May there be reincarnation. Or something better. And may you find unconditional love and understanding and strength and courage and tenderness. And peace. May there be a God and may that God bless and hold you with a love and strength and tenderness.