John Oubre Henderson

I haven't blogged in quite some time.  More than a couple of years, I believe.  I wrote this for facebook and decided to post it here as well.

Its taken me forever to speak publicly about my brother John Oubre Henderson. I never want to do anything for sympathy or to exploit him or his memory. I’ve rewritten this, edited it, almost deleted, but I’m just feeling like it is time to finally put something out into the world.

It’s been two years.
Two years since I got a phone call and rushed to the hospital, only to find out I was too late.

I keep thinking with time, this will get easier.

For a while, I was able to pretend that he was still working in Colorado, or hanging out with the children of Antigua. The reality hits more and more, each day...he’s not coming back.

So, I try to remember conversations, or how he would respond to something I would say to him. I’ll always be able to remember how he looks, as my house has his image all over.

There are days when I’m Ok. But a song will play, or a butterfly will fly by. Then I have to sit in my car for a min, and let my eyes dry.

Some days, it’s all I can do to keep from ripping doors off their hinges or flipping a desk.

I know that today, I should be with my family, to be comforting them. But I can’t. I have to be alone. It is incredibly selfish, and I’m quite aware of that. This is just the one day I don’t have it in me to be there for anyone.

“I don't want to start thinking, Woodrow, about all the things we that shoulda done for this good man.”

I don’t have a lot of regret in my life. I’ve said for a very long time that every decision, no matter how wrong, right, small or large has led me to this moment. There are a few regrets that I do have.

I regret that I was unable to save him. I know there’s nothing more that I could have done. I’m fully aware of that. But there will probably always be a level of failure that I’ll feel.
So I continue to promise to him to keep his memory alive in any way that I can.

My other regret is not speaking for him at his memorial. I know that I never would have been able to get up to say anything. Was in still so much shock.
But if I could, I would have said something like this:

My brother, John Oubre Henderson was a tremendous person. He had a smile that could disarm anyone. A charm that could sway any argument. I never knew anyone who didn’t like him. Except for guys who had attractive girlfriends (wait for laughter).

He was a genuinely nice person to everyone he met.

He didn’t raise a hand towards anyone. He even took a punch at On the Rocks, which broke my sunglasses I had let him borrow (wait for laughter). He didn’t retaliate, he continued to have a good time, even with blood pouring from his nose.

He loved dissecting movies, and would be really proud when he figured out something that was maybe hidden in one. He never considered himself a smart man, despite being quite brilliant.

He was incredibly funny. There was no such thing as keeping a straight face, when dad was trying to have a prayer before dinner. You just knew if you looked at him, he was already wearing a goofy face, just waiting for you to look at him. He was quick witted and could bring a whole room to belly aching laughter.

He was naturally talented in any sport he tried. And a fierce competitor in every single one of them.

He loved the telefilm Lonesome Dove. Our family has watched it so many times together, we could all quote it front to back. The full six and a half hours. He was definitely a living embodiment of Augustus McCrae. Laid back, adventurous, funny & deeply caring.

He loved music. Specifically the Rolling Stones. He was always so envious that I got to see them live, and he didn’t. It was something that I would remind him of constantly. I have great memories of introducing him to so much music, and he loved it all.

He loved Halloween. He would always dig through my closet for last minute costume ideas. The sunglasses of mine that got broke? He had borrowed them and my bathrobe to dress as Homeless Ric Flair. Other notables were The Not So Incredible Hulk and Slash from Guns N Roses.

He loved Christmas. When we were younger, we would conspire against mom to find out what each other were getting. Then share the info with one another.

He loved his family, totally and unconditionally.

He loved his friends, of which he would have done anything for.

He will be forever missed. There will be no more of him showing up unannounced at my door. No more jokes or talking about music. No more quoting Lonesome Dove or playing NCAA Football tournaments at Thanksgiving.

He was taken too soon. He should be in Antigua, laughing with children. He should be teaching his bible class. He should be making someone’s sides splitting from laughter. He should be making a pretty girl blush. He should be taking his nephew hunting. He should be here. But he’s not.

I had many people come and say the days after he passed that this is God’s will, or all part of God’s plan. They meant well, and I hold no ill will towards them for trying. But if I were to see God today, I’d let him know how flawed his plan is.

To take someone who meant so much to so many, who was trying to do and give so much with his life. You can see everywhere how much he meant to people. The marker at his parking space, placed by the children in his bible class. The shirts with his image that his co-workers wear with pride. The money raised in his name. The people that show up each year to kayak to remember him with us.

It was...it is too soon. It will never ever make sense to me.

“Now the only healthy way to live, as I see it,
is to learn to like all the little everyday things.”

So, I continue to struggle through the hard days. I don’t flip the desk. I dry my eyes in my car. I continue on. It is not easy. Thankfully, on those hard days, I have a very understanding wife, who knows my struggle. She’s always there, always knowing exactly how to be there. I’d be lost without her. I have my few friends who I do openly discuss my deepest feelings with. I have my family who all have their own ways of dealing and going on, who each is there for the next. I have yellow butterflies that will surprise me from out of nowhere. I have the random person I’ll get behind that has his sticker on their car. I have the Pearl Jam tribute that I’ve played a thousand times. I have kayak days, where I swear I can feel him paddling right behind me. I have that moment in Atlanta, when I saw his doppleganger for a second.

I take comfort in that he meant so much to so many people. At his memorial, they had to open seating to upstairs for everyone to pile in. At one point, it felt like the entirety of the population of Florence was in line to say good bye. People from all different walks of life. Old, young, black, white, hispanic, gay, straight, christian, atheist, buddhist...the list goes on. It made me proud he made such a large impact on such a diverse group of people.

I thankfully have my dreams where he shows up from time to time to have a conversation.
Then I wake up, and realize he’s gone and I have to keep living.

I leave you with one last quote of Augustus McCrae’s from Lonesome Dove

“It ain’t dying I’m talking about, its living.”