This past week has been one of the more difficult ones that I've had to face in a long time. On Monday, I found out that one of my former co-workers from County Council had passed away very suddenly. John was one of those people who was so loud, so outgoing, and so lively, that the thought of him no longer being around is almost inconceivable to me.
After I got over the initial shock of finding out, I remembered one of the last conversations that we had, when I was getting ready to move on to my new job. John asked if I would ever come back and visit, and when I said yes, he said, "No, no you won't! You'll never come back to see us. You're going to miss me so much, though. You'll think, 'I'll miss you most, Scarecrow-' you know, that line from
The Wizard of Oz? And I'll be the Scarecrow..." I promised to come back and visit, that we would go out to lunch.
John was the person who would walk through the office, singing a song or quoting a movie and trying to make you guess what it was from. He brought me linguine with clam sauce that his wife had made, because I told him it was my favorite. He always had almonds and candy in his office, because he knew that was a good way to get people to come in and talk. His cell phone ringer was the song from Monday Night Football and he would let it get through the whole song before he'd answer it, because he thought it was funny. He loved to talk about books and movies, and after I borrowed
Citizen Kane, he would randomly walk up to me and say, "Rosebud..." After I worked there for two weeks, I told him he was obnoxious, and he never let me forget it. He was so proud of his family and talked about them all of the time. He had a Vanilla Coconut wallflower in his office and changed it in a huff after I told him that it reminded me of a bathroom, because that was the spray that we had at home. No matter where you were in the office, you could always hear John (even when he closed his office door, thinking that you could no longer hear him yell obscenities at the person on the other end of the phone). He was immensely proud of being the first staff member hired by Council and of his part-time job as a DJ. He loved making people laugh, and from what I heard, was still doing Marlon Brando impressions on his hospital bed. He was far from perfect, but he was 100% himself, all of the time.
I only went back to the office one time after I quit, and the senior staff members were all at a conference. I made someone take a picture of me in the office, just to prove to John that I had come back.
This whole experience has really shaken me. John had a three sons who were around my age, and a wife who he loved very much. He was only 57 when he died, and it was completely unexpected. It makes me want to say more "I love yous" and more "thank yous." It makes me want to hug people longer and visit and talk to them more often. It makes me want to get less bogged down by the stupid, inconsequential things that I allow to upset me. It makes me not want to put things off, especially things that involve spending time with friends and family. It makes me not want to take my life for granted.
I'll miss you most, Scarecrow.
