I've been contemplating if my stepdad's death is appropriate material for an online blog, but this is pretty much my only venue for expressing my emotions, so I suppose it's ok. Jon passed away on Friday, right at noon. My mom called me at 12:27 to tell me that he was gone. I was driving down Lucas and Hunt to Highway 70, and cried all the way to my mom's house in Webster. I didn't know what to think, feel, or do. I still don't. My faith allows me to believe that he is indeed in a better place, but it's still so hard! When I got to my mom's house, I walked to the bathroom to cry in peace. I'm not really into public displays of affection, so I'm definitely not into public displays of sadness. On my way there, I saw him in the room, in his bed. I wasn't expecting that. I didn't know he was still in the house. It was a sight that shocked me, but at the same time helped give me some closure. So sitting on the toilet, my head in my hands, I spot his hospital bracelet laying on top of a pile of tissue in the trash can. It's weird, but I snatched it up and slipped it into my pocket. I guess it's something to keep to remember him by. Well, I'm sure I'll keep something more meaningful, like one of his badges from when he served in Vietnam, or one of his beloved Swiss Army knives, or perhaps his harmonica or something else of significant sentimental value. But I like the idea of keeping the bracelet because his name is on it. I can't believe that age 50, my mom is a widow. The pain I feel in my heart for her, I just can't explain. I'm hurting unbelievably, so I can't begin to even process how she must be feeling. My mom and Jon met in middle school, dated through high school, and went their separate ways when Jon went to Vietnam. The both married other people, each had two kids, and then miraculously reconnected in the late 80s. They dated again for a few years, and got married. I was the flower girl. Everyone there says it was the best wedding they've ever been to. It was held at my aunt's house, the band kicked ass, it started pouring rain, and everyone just kept on dancing all night in the rain. My parents were (are) so fun; they loved bar-b-que's, camping, fishing at Innsbrook, and hanging out with their great group of friends. To my parents, there was simply nothing better than sitting on the deck with ice cold beer in the cooler and the Allman Brothers, Eric Clapton, and Bob Dylan blaring from the speakers. I'm really going to miss coming over and seeing them shooting the breeze about nothing in particular. I'll miss the way Jon looked at my mom, with the most loving, adoring eyes I've ever seen. He loved her with all of his heart. If anyone, my mom is definitely most deserving of that kind of unconditional love.
Jon came into my life when I was in 2nd grade. My dad was (and still is) gone from my life. When my parents divorced, he chose to move back to his hometown, and apparently, has never looked back. Jon provided my brother and I with a life we never would have otherwise known. My mom has always been an incredibly hard worker, and over the years has managed to move up the corporate ladder and is now a prominent, influential manager of a department at Missouri Baptist Medical Center. But without Jon's college education and great job at Maritz, we never could have lived the way we lived. While my parents never spoiled us, gave us everything our little hearts desired, or showered us with gifts, we never wanted for anything. We had a beautiful home in picturesque Webster Groves, had nice things, and never once had to struggle to have the things we needed. I thank Jon emphatically for being the only father figure I've had throughout my adolescence and adulthood. I thank Jon for taking care of my brother and I without hesitation, as if we were his own. I thank Jon for loving my mother the way she deserves to be loved.
Mom and Jon were married for 17 years. God blessed that marriage because they overcame obstacles most couples wouldn't be able to overcome. And they loved each other with the same passion and devotion as they did back at day one, when life wasn't so hard, and love didn't seem so challenging. They loved one another with all of their hearts, and I can only hope that Jon knows I loved him too.
I will never, for the rest of my life, be able to forgive myself for not seeing Jon one last time. Thursday, the night before his death, Alex and I were supposed to go over there and see him. We didn't know it would be our last opportunity, but I allowed stupid bullshit to prevent me from going over there as planned. It breaks my heart to know that he couldn't say goodbye to Alex, his only grandson. Mom told Alex yesterday that "Papa" loved him more than anything in the whole world. I wish I could go back in time and let Jon him one last time. It hurts so much to know that Jon will never see him grow up, and will never be able to see what he becomes. Alex wants to be a professional golfer like Tiger Woods. Jon taught Alex how to golf. If Alex's dream becomes realized, Jon will only be there in spirit to see it.
One thing I will never forget for the rest of my life, is the time we spent as a family at Jon's parents' house. Grandma Jean (now deceased) and Grandpa Francis (still alive and kicking), had us over every Sunday for dinner. We ate on her finest china, sipped water from crystal goblets, held hands and said grace, and spent quality time together as a family. This was the epitome of family for me; I've never before, and have never since, experienced this type of togetherness. These Sunday dinners will remain fond in my memory forever.
Speaking of Grandpa Francis, when Jon died on Friday, he said, "I'm 91 years old, and all of my boys are gone." I can't even fathom what it must feel like to outlive all three of your sons. Tim LeClair, died in Vietnam trying to save other troops after he himself had already escaped to safety. Jim LeClair, who served in the U.S. Coast Guard, died a few years ago from cancer. And now Jon, also a Vietnam veteran and wonderful man, is gone. All three now have a marker at Jefferson Barracks. Nothing is more admirable to me than a veteran (or victim) of war, and I feel proud to have known two of the bravest men our country has ever seen.
Well, this tribute, however small, is my way of saying goodbye. The funeral is tomorrow (ironically, on Veteran's Day), and I plan to present a poem for Jon along with pictures and other artifacts that represent his short life. I haven't written it yet, but I know that my love for him will be all the inspiration that I need. So I say goodbye for now, and one day we will meet again. If you're reading this, please say a short prayer for Mr. Jon LeClair, may he rest in peace.
