My John

Dear Uncle John,

You know you were always my favorite right? You were the one that knew what it was like to stick out.  You were my John.

I did it, you know.  I finally made it to LA, to your city.  It wasn’t right though, because you weren’t here.  I wanted more than anything to see it the way you saw it.  I wanted to eat from a taco truck, to speak the Spanglish that you knew so well.  I wanted to see the LA that you loved, the LA that you carried on about when I was a kid.  The LA that loved you back, before it became part of your disease.

I visited with Scotch, the way you wanted me to.  I saw the house, the tortoise, and his beautiful babies.  He has babies, you know.  Three of them.  Most beautiful ones I’ve seen.  I held it together, because I could see that he is still hurting, the way that I am.  Seven years and you’re still breaking our hearts.  We talked about you some.  We talked about how it didn’t feel right for me to be there, when you weren’t.

When I left his house, I held back my tears so I could drive.  I didn’t know where I was going.  I crossed the street that you lived on most of your time in West Hollywood.  I turned off my GPS when I should have turned to go back to my hotel.  I just drove.  Down Santa Monica Boulevard to the ocean.  Just in time to watch the sun setting.

It isn’t right.  You should have been there.  Marveling in my success.  Marveling at the fact that after years as the only girl, I’m about about to be surrounded by them.  Instead your disease took you with heroin and cheap vodka.   I’m still mad at it for that.  You should have been there.  You should have seen the sunset with me.


This entry was posted in All About Me, Pretty Pictures. Bookmark the permalink. Post a comment or leave a trackback: Trackback URL.


  1. tere
    Posted February 9, 2011 at 11:15 pm | Permalink

    Tears, and yet seeing him in the folks in the kitchen where we sat enjoying the food, or cooking a great meal, and doing the dishes. reminders of what he gave us even if he isn’t here now. the shirt I wear cooking cause he gave it to me.
    big hugs.
    tere mom

  2. kristen
    Posted February 10, 2011 at 11:31 am | Permalink

    Beautiful. Tearing up because this captures how I feel everytime I look at my son and wish his Grandmother was here to see him.

    We keep those we loved and lost very much alive in our hearts.

Post a Comment

Your email is never published nor shared. Required fields are marked *


You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>

4 − two =

CommentLuv badge