Brother John is Gone

 

My big brother, John, died early in the morning on August 31. I have been processing this loss for the past two weeks and felt the need to write something about him. The picture above was taken in the summer of 2016 at the Aspen Viewing Area of the Santa Fe National Forest in New Mexico.  This was our last big trip together.

John was born in February 1947, an early Baby Boomer. Our parents were both veterans of World War II - our father served in Europe with Patton's army, our mother served under MacArthur in the Women's Army Corps, mostly in New Guinea. John got to be an only child for almost 8 years as our parents tried to scrape out a living in the San Francisco Bay Area after the war.  New "starter homes" were springing up all over the country for returning service personnel and their young families. In 1953, my parents bought a newly-built 3-bedroom ranch house in the Bonaire neighborhood of San Leandro CA, a town next to Oakland. I arrived in November 1954.  John & I grew up in that house.

John was a high-achieving kid, a stand-out student, an Eagle Scout, president of his class in high school, a varsity swimmer, recipient of a full-ride scholarship to a fine liberal arts school in southern California. I was his annoying kid brother, and I hated following in his footsteps. The guy was so damned accomplished - all the teachers used to throw his excellence and stellar reputation in my face. There was no way I could match my saintly brother's track record. I wasn't quite 10 years old when he graduated from high school and left town in 1964. I wasn't really close to my brother when I was a kid - 8 years is a lifetime for a 10 year old boy, and our worlds were very different when we were under the same roof.

John did many wonderful things. One wonderful thing impacted me when I was still living at home. Our father struggled with alcoholism and bipolar illness when I was in middle school and high school. I didn't have a strong male influence and I was starting to slip into misbehavior. John noticed. He stepped up. He invited me to visit him in his first home after he graduated from college. He would come home and hang out with me. He talked to me about sex, something my parents never did. John filled the gap - he became my mentor when my dad was too sick to play that role. John always showed up when I was in trouble - during my two divorces, during the failure of my business and during the illness and deaths of our parents. He was a rock.

John was a great husband and father. He was a master teacher, who taught at international schools in three different countries and the public schools in Portland OR and  New Orleans LA. He was an enthusiastic outdoorsman, full of skill and resilience. But the amazing thing about John is how he was able to accept everything that life served up, good or bad. His son Joe summarized it well: "My dad always made the best out of every situation."

When he was in his forties, John was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease. This was an early onset of the disease - the majority of folks that get Parkinson's Disease are diagnosed after they are 60 years old.  It was a stroke of bad luck, to be sure, but John soldiered on. He kept fighting to retain the things he loved in life for as long as possible. While he was always kind and compassionate, those qualities expanded as the disease progressed.  To make things more challenging, John was also afflicted with severe scoliosis and osteoporosis. He kept moving forward, but the burdens eventually overcame him. These are evil diseases that slowly steal a person's ability to function. John was suffering, especially after his wife, Susan, died in August 2020. I miss him terribly, but I'm glad that he is no longer in pain.

My brother, my mentor, my friend. I am the last surviving member of my family of origin. It is going to be weird to live without John.

A Brother's Birthday

Here is a picture of the last remaining members of the California branch of the Gillock family.  My brother (on the right) and I are shuffling into geezerhood now.  He is ahead of me by 8 years.  He is ahead of me in many ways - he is sorta retired, I am still working.  His kids are grown and gone, I still have 2 at home.  He is a successful husband; I am a 2-time loser in that role.  My brother John has always been awesome.  Today is his birthday, so here is the obligatory shout - out:  HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JOHN!!!!!.

John and I grew up in a classic 1950's/1960's family unit.  For quite a few years, dad worked, mom stayed home and the two kids did all those classic kid things - Cub Scouts, attend the local school, hang with the kids in the 'hood, etc.  But our dad had some mental health challenges - he eventually went on disability - and mom got her teaching credentials and went to work.  I stopped looking up to my father and started looking up to my brother instead.

Siblings often fall into the love/hate trap.  I was an annoying kid.  John didn't really want to hang out with me much when we both lived at home - the age difference was sufficiently large that we occupied separate realities.  And as I entered the school system, I kept running into a consistent response from teachers that knew my brother: "Oh, you are John Gillock's brother?  Well, I hope you are as marvelous as he is."  God, I hated that attitude.  It was especially aggravating to know that the teachers were right, my brother was marvelous, and I would always come up short when compared to him.  So I was annoying, but he was insufferable due to his marvelousness.

He was the star in high school - dashingly handsome, on the swim team, class president, outstanding grades, college scholarship offers, Eagle Scout -- well, you get the picture.

He went off to college and something interesting happened - we became closer.  I paid a lot of attention to him.  He was a man of strong opinions and integrity.  He fought tooth and nail with my parents over the Vietnam conflict; he hated the war on moral grounds and worked hard to stay out of it. Years later, my mother told me that she realized that John had been right about Vietnam.

My brother became a teacher, like our mother.  He worked in New Orleans, rural Washington state, Saudi Arabia, Bangladesh, Abu Dhabi and Portland OR.  He has changed and molded many young people.  He is a master teacher.

John is a skilled outdoorsman who can quickly pitch a tent in the rain at midnight.  He is a dedicated hiker, and still hits the trail whenever he can in spite of the effects of Parkinsons Disease.  Yes, John is fighting this nasty affliction, but he has accepted it with grace and calmness.  And he isn't letting the disease define him in any way.

John took care of our mother when she was dying of cancer.  He has been incredibly kind and supportive as I have gone through some struggles over the past year or so.  And when I try to thank him, he just says, "This is what brothers are for."

I have had a lot of good luck, but one of the luckiest things in my life is having John as my brother.