Shattered Fragments [Random Updates]

John and the Self-Propelled Mower

My next-door neighbor died.

I wasn’t home at the time. When John died of a heart attack I was in Tennessee. I was in the middle of a whitewater rapid nicknamed “Hell’s Hole”; soaring through Ocoee River riding point on a raft. I was smiling until it felt like my face would break in two. There was no way to know he was dead. I was in the middle of nowhere. No phones, no computers, nothing. I had no way of knowing his son lost a father at the startling age of almost three. How could I have sensed their pain from 588.8 miles away? But even though I know I’m not to blame, I can’t shake the guilt that settles like a stone in my stomach every time I see his wife or his much too young son, who doesn’t really understand his dad isn’t coming home. Ever.

Since my return from Tennessee, I find myself thinking about John. I see him in the full moon. He would tell his son, Josh, that the moon would follow it’s favorite little boy all night long.The moon would watch over him. As a result, the boy now calls it his moon as if it’s something that can even be owned. I feel as though now John is the man in the moon and even as he watches his son grow up without him, he is still there in some small way.

I see him when I mow the grass. I hate mowing the grass. I always mow the backyard first, then the front. I remember how every time when I was almost done, he would come out and offer me their “self-propelled” mower. Every time I said “No thanks! I am almost done anyway” or something of the like. It became our thing. He would joking scold me for being “stubborn as a mule”. I look at the grass grow and I dread having to mow the lawn. It won’t be the same. I feel like the grass is growing way too fast. Even if I used the self-propelled mower, it wouldn’t be enough to vanquish the evil weeds.

I see him in his wife’s sad eyes and I try not to stare at her. I won’t pity her. I respect her strength too much for that. I respect all of his family too much for pity.

I feel guilty I was not back in time for the funeral. I feel guilty for having to mow the grass without him nagging me. I feel guilty for not looking at the moon every night. I feel guilty for every snarky thought I ever had about John. As stupid as it sounds, I feel guilty for never mowing with his self-propelled mower. But most of all, I feel guilty because I know I’ll forget.

I don’t want to forget my neighbor that walked around shirtless most of the time. I don’t want to forget all the times her randomly cooked my family pasta. I don’t want to forget his name or his face or his voice, but I already feel them fading. I don’t want to look at the moon without thinking of him, but I know someday I will. I don’t want to move out someday and live in my own house and realize I mow my own lawn with ease. But I will. So, I’m writing this now, while I remember. I write this now, because I am selfish, and it makes me feel less guilty. I write this to say good bye.

Goodbye John.