Goodbye

​Goodbye. We say it to our friends after dinner, our families after the holidays, and when we end a phone call. It tells us that the conversation or a night out has ended and everyone has said what they had wanted to. It ties up the loose ends and most of the time leaves us feeling content with what happened before we said it. When the ability to say goodbye is lost it can leave you feeling empty and searching for a way to say it. I missed the chance to say goodbye to Jon by two days, just two days. It has left my brain searching for answers to questions I did not get to ask, forgiveness I did not get to give, and the weight of a million bricks on my heart.

​My mom met Jon in the 90s right around the time he opened the very successful Jonny’s Restaurant in Hutchinson, MN. I spent countless hours inside his restaurant, which was far better than being stuck with a babysitter at home. You could find me in the back booth surrounded by delicious food like grilled chicken and homemade french fries with ranch, books about Wolves, and two or three unscented candles lighting my space. If I was not in the back booth, I was in Jon’s office watching Cartoon Network and taking in the pungent aromas that crept in from the hectic kitchen. I was always sneaking in the giant walk-in fridge, the one with the Grateful Dead sticker, to steal what my sister and I called “Shad Pickles” from the gallon bucket. My favorite memory is Jon teaching me how to cut food with a chef’s knife properly so I would not cut off any of my fingers. The memories that were created inside of Jonny’s are held close to my heart.

​We lived with Jon for about seven years. It was not always rainbows and butterflies, but overall we filled the time with endless amounts of humor, sarcasm, and love. We had great neighbors, a big yard with a playhouse, and our family dog named Chloe, who was a black Cocker Spaniel. With all the positives, life felt like a picture-perfect movie at ten years old. Although, my mom did not tell me the adult issues that were occurring. She shielded my sister and I from unfortunate events that were happening. I thank her for that. I recall one event that stands out to me and I now, at 26, know the true story behind it. My mom was flustered yet trying to keep her emotions under control as she drove to Jon’s restaurant with my sister and I in the back seat of the Jeep. We were both wondering why we had to rush down to the restaurant in the middle of the day. My mom turned around and said, “Jon’s blood sugar is low and he has locked himself in his office, but the police and ambulance have arrived to help him.” I remember crying in the car thinking he would die, but my mom assured me he would be okay. The real story is that he was high on drugs and did almost die in his office that day. My mom tried to help him, but things eventually got out of hand at home, and we moved out.

​It was a difficult transition leaving Jon’s home to move into a small duplex a few miles away. Thankfully, we were still within walking distance to our friend’s houses. Years went by and throughout those years Jon continued to struggle with his addiction, Jonny’s closed down, and he almost died on a few different occasions. I had no feelings about it during those years because I was mad he was doing it to himself. He always told friends and what little family of his that still cared that we were the best part of his life. Whenever I heard that it always made me wonder why he did not fix himself so he could have kept the best part of his life. I now know that an addict can only help himself and that no one else can make them. After he almost died a few years ago, he found the church and started a journey to being a sober member of society.

​My mom called me a few months ago with both good news and bad news. The good news was that Jon had gotten sober and was the head chef for the church. The bad news was that he had pancreatic cancer, stage four. Hearing those words come out of my mom’s mouth was equivalent to being punched in the gut by a professional boxer. My eyes welled up with tears, my throat had a knot in it, and I felt like I was losing the ability to breathe. I replied, “How long does he have?”

​My mom said, “Well, since he is a diabetic, it will be more difficult to challenge this disease.”​

​Her answer was not what I was looking for. I was hoping for her to say he would tackle it head-on and things will be fine, even though I knew that was not true. I was reaching for an impossible and unrealistic response. When I hung up the phone, I felt empty. My head began to fill up with thoughts of how life can be so unfair even when you pull everything together and make a change for the better. I knew I had to go to my hometown and talk with Jon. I wanted to thank him for allowing my sister and I in the kitchen, teaching me how to cook and cut foods, and introducing cooking to my life. Most of all, I wanted to forgive him. I wanted to forgive him for the things he had done in the past. Then I wanted to spend some time talking about his new sober life and reminisce about the past. I decided the following Friday I would go home.

​The following week Wednesday rolled around, and it was about 7 pm and my phone rang, it was my mom. Something in my gut said this is not a good phone call. I answered with hesitation and said, “Hello.”

​My mom on the other end of the phone replied, “Saydi, I do not know how to tell you this, but Jon passed away.”

​I sat there on the other end of the in my office at work while my heart felt like it was ripped out of my chest. I finally mustered up the words to say, “What? I was going to come and see him this weekend and talk to him and thank him.”

​My mom’s voice was shaky on the other end, trying to hold it together for me as I broke down into tears. She said, “This is really bothering me. He called me twice and left voicemails asking me to call back to talk about things. I was so worried he would get feelings again, so I shut him out. I feel horrible. Why did I do this?”

​I replied, “Mom, it is okay. I love you.” I did not know what else to say. My mom’s fiancé had passed away from cancer almost 10 years ago. I know my mom struggles to get close to cancer again.

​She said, “I love you too.”

​After the exchange of I love you’s, there was an extended period of silence. We ended the phone call saying goodbye and letting each other know we would be there for one another. I called and checked on my sister. We spoke about the past and how we would miss Jon and how we both regret never seeing or talking to him once he got clean.

​Jon’s funeral was the following week and at the front of the church there sat a table for one, empty. As we walked out of his funeral, I spoke with his brother, Kirk, asking if I could stop by Jon’s home and see if there was a cookbook or two I could have as a reminder of where I learned my love for cooking. I met Kirk the following week, and he handed me a few cookbooks, one of Jon’s chef's jackets, and two pans. I got home later that day and was emotionally drained and crying while I sifted through his cookbooks beating myself up for not going to see him sooner. I just wanted to know he knew I was sorry and that I wanted to say goodbye and at that moment I stumbled upon a notebook page in one of his cookbooks with recipes written on it. The handwriting looked familiar. I sat there puzzled and then saw Jon written next to one recipe, and then it hit me that was my handwriting. Those were recipes I wanted to cook with Jon and some I even had. Out of the hundreds of cookbooks Jon owned that one went home with me. I stopped crying for a moment because at that moment I knew that was a sign from Jon telling me he knew I was sorry and that he has heard my goodbye.