I was walking into Lowe’s Food tonight at about 9:00 in a desperate search for a blueberry muffin for Amanda when my dad called. A lot of times if my dad calls me early in the morning I get worried that he has some bad news. Pap, his dad, isn’t in the best of health and I’ve dreaded hearing something about him for a long time. I don’t know why I always expect it in the morning- people die at all times of the day.
Anyway, my dad called and asked what I was doing, and I told him I was getting Amanda a muffin on my way home from attempting to surf and that I hadn’t gotten stung by any jellyfish today. He then told me that John Quinn had died today.
John was a close family friend. I always felt like I had a bit of a bond with John, although I can’t say exactly where it came from. He was funny and caring and….
I’m not good at typing this kind of thing. It sucks that John is dead, it really does. No, it sucks that John had cancer. Four of the seven or so people I’ve known who died, died of cancer. I hate it. I hate cancer so much. In light of that, it’s probably not a bad thing that he died. Last time I saw him, on July 4th, he wasn’t doing great, and I thought it would likely be the last time I saw him. I hate that I was right, but I’m glad he’s no longer suffering.
Dad said that Christian, his third daughter, had called and told him the news. I don’t know if I got the story straight, but apparently he got to talk to his family, took a few breaths, and then passed away.
He was a pretty big guy and he swallowed you up when he gave you a hug. He had a glass eye that he’d take out to gross you out. He was always welcoming.
I don’t know what else to say. I’ll miss John when we go to Kentucky. He was a painter, and Amanda and I have two of his prints hanging in the living room. I’m glad I have those to remember him by.
I really wish I knew more of what to write.
I’ll miss you, John.