This is the song that John's brother David wrote and sang at the memorial service. He has now recorded it. It is beautiful. It does make me cry every time I hear it. I am not at the place, like the lyrics say that I won't cry so much but laugh instead. It almost seems that as the days go by, I cry more and more.
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so, i've been visting the john braun page quite regularily since... yeah. i still hate saying it. i still hate thinking that i played guitar at his funeral. i hate that word. it's ugly. it's so final. i didn't even use it at all until becky asked me if i could play. anyways, that's not what this is supposed to be about. this is supposed to be about memories i have about one of the greatest men to ever grace this earth. i shared a few on my blog on my rememberance day post, and i'll likely over lap that a bit, just with more detail. one of my favorite memories was when i gave him his shirt. i remember how hard mike, uncle john, and i laughed. it was a riot. i'll explain. i had just gotten married about two weeks before this happened. on our honeymoon we headed out west and made our way up and down vancouver island. in our first couple days on the island some friends of ours decided to take us out to do some salmon fishing. well, i won't bore you all with the fish story, although i'm sure uncle john would make me tell it, but i caught a 48 lb chinook salmon. which is a very large fish. knowing full well that this was the biggest fish that anybody i knew had caught, the very first thing i did was grab my cell phone. steve barry, who was also a friend of uncle john's and the guy who had taken us fishing, moved the boat so i could get a cell signal for the call. i dialed uncle john's number before anyone else's, knowing that he would be thrilled and choked at the same time that i caught this monster. i believe that the conversation went something like this.
uncle john (J):hello
trav (t): hey uncle john
j: hey trav
t: so, i think you're gonna hate me.
j:why in the world would i ever hate you trav?
t: because i just caught a 48 lb salmon
j: you did not. you're lying. steve put you up to this, didn't he?
t:nope, no lie, it's huge, biggest thing i've ever seen
j:you're so full of crap trav (all the while laughing of course)
t: i wishi i was uncle john, that would be the best joke ever, but i'm serious!
j: seriously? 50 lbs? no... i don't believe you
t: i'm gonna make you a shirt of this (laughing ensues)
j: no way, you're just gonna photo shop something. there's no way you caught a fish that big. (more laughing)
t: just you wait.
and that was the jist of the converstation... i had a heck of a time totally convincing him that i had landed a monster salmon. so anyways, we went and did all the stuff with the fish that we needed to do, proceeded to walmart to get a couple of white tshirts and headed back to steve and kathy's where we then made tshirts. two of them. one of them for me, with just a picture of the fish and me, the other with the same picture but with a few words added. the words, "my nephew, my hero". well, two weeks later we headed out to martensville, made a stop at his house, i knocked on the door (wearing my shirt of course). i had his shirt hidden at the time. i believe mike answered the door, and was pretty floored when he saw the picture on my shirt. uncle john then quickly made his way to the living room and also was aghast. i believe he mentioned something about wanting a picture of it. at this time i pulled out his shirt. and he laughed so hard. we all did. but the best part? he put it on. and he beamed with pride. from ear to ear. and it made me feel great. and that's what he was all about. he got that from grampa braun. he loved to make other people feel great. and he did a great job of it.
Dear Dad,
I walked to the park today. Ben rode his bike. And I missed you so much. You should have seen him Dad. He likes to ride fast now, you would be so proud. And when he rode on the gravel path his tire spun like crazy because of his training wheels. He thought it was awesome. Just like a racecar. I know you would have laughed to see it.
I ran into my friend Staci, who talked to me about the last time she saw you, on the street in front of Heather's house, working on your truck. She said you seemed so healthy and energetic. She remembers your laugh. It made me miss you more, thinking of you working on your truck just down the road from where I was sitting.
Today was hard for me. I'm not sure why. It just really was. I looked through some pictures of this summer, trying to find one in particular. Not of you actually, but of course, there you were. Holding Hannah, fishing with the boys at the zoo, holding Hannah again, driving the U-haul with Ben, and holding Hannah yet again... I know you would have laughed at all the bows I put in her hair today.
I wanted to call you and tell you about how Sammy was missing his new stuffed turtle. (It's name is Sammy the turtle.) He was very upset this morning and told me "It's nowhere to be seen!" You would have laughed at that part.
My friend Staci doesn't think that nothing will ever be wonderful again. I tried to explain to her that I know I can be happy, really joyful again. I know I can. But nothing will ever be the same kind of wonderful again without you here. Every time I get close to wonderful I know I'll wish you were here for it, so even the wonderful will hurt a little. I know she thinks that I just need time, and that I'll get there, but I won't. It's not that I won't let myself, but I know I won't.
Here's something my friend Darcie sent to me about you. I thought it summed you up completely...
Uncle John was very special to me. I remember in high school I would always wear toe socks to church and Uncle John would forever harass me about them. I kept telling him I was going to buy him some for Christmas. I don't know whether or not he believed me, but, when he opened his present from me at the Braun gathering that year, he laughed. I can still hear him laughing as he said "Oh Cynthia!" and putting on his socks. I had bought us matching ones and somewhere in my box of pictures I have a picture of us modelling our socks together.
He always called me Cynthia. There are very few people in this world who can call me that without it bugging me. Uncle John always said it in such an endearing way with a hint of a laugh in his voice. It was like we had some sort of secret inside joke that he thought of everytime we talked.
Uncle John knew how to make a person feel special. I remember going to watch Trevor play football with him. I know he went, not because he really cared obout the game, although I know he loved pretty much any football game. He went because I mattered to him. And because Trevor mattered to me, and thus mattered to him too. He told me about how he liked to sit with the opposing teams fans; how much fun he thought it was.
Uncle John loved my kids. You can't do anything that matters more to a mother than love her kids and he definitely did that. Chloe loved all the special hugs from him at church. I remember the first Sunday after having Tristan that we were both at church. He had just finished his last Saskatoon transplant and we had colds. I told him we were sick when he came to meet Tristan but he said I don't care, give me that boy. He hugged him close and said, "Oh Cynthia, he's just beautiful!"
I don't know how to end this, so I'll leave it with this.
I love you Uncle John
I dreamed a few nights ago and John was in it for just a few "frames?" but it reminded me when I woke up about how John became such a great Dad. So I will share the memory.
We were living on the farm. I think it was our first winter there so I would have been 12 and John would have been 15 or just turned 16. It had melted enough for the ditches to be filled with water and then we had a cold snap so all the ditches were covered with ice. We all had skates and went skating along the ditches. We got quite far from home, possibly 2 or 3 miles, when I realized that my feet were cold. The others all wanted to keep going, but John came home with me. We were about half way home when my feet stopped hurting and I told John we could go back if he wanted. he said that we needed to get home and get my skates off. So we did. About 10 minutes after we got home, my feet started to hurt. They hurt so bad I was crying. Since Mom and Dad weren't home John took care of me. He got a basin of water and sat down and rubbed my feet with his hands in the water until they were thawed.
Even before John became a man, he had qualities that showed him to be a good husband and father later in life.
When I found out I was the going to be the donor I was very honoured and glad. Everyone was hoping that it would be me because I was the youngest and would therefore have the strongest and healthiest stem cells which would then give John the best possible chance at beating the cancer. It turned out that it didn't really make any difference at all. The cancer mutated and there was nothing that could be done. So from one point of view, me going to Seattle and doing the donation was kinda pointless. All I really did was throw smoke at a monster. I choose to look at it differently. The time that I spent there is something that I wouldn't trade for anything. Most of the days there I didn't really see John and Chris much till around 4:00 in the afternoon. I would walk to the clinic in the morning, do my blood work and then go and get my stem cell growth shots. After that I was free to wander the city. Which quickly became slightly boring.
John was usually in appointments all morning and then would go home for lunch and a nap. Then back to the clinic for a bit in the afternoon most of the time. I would usually head over at around 3 or 4 and we would sit and watch Mash for a bit. John hated commercials and would always mute the TV during them. Then we would start talking and he would forget that he had done it and the show would come back on and he would sit and watch with no sound and then suddenly realize this and laugh and turn the sound back on. We would have supper and then watch some more TV and visit until around 8:00 and then he would start getting tired, then he would drive me back to the hotel for the night.
I know it doesn't sound very exciting, but it was great. Just visiting and laughing together. Chris got sooooo sick of Mash. I will never be able to watch that show or hear that theme song without thinking of him.
We would often go up on the rooftop deck and watch the boats in the harbour with his binoculars. We would take turns and point out the fanciest and biggest yachts we could find. When we went out on the sailboat tour of the harbor we got to see them a little closer. It was great standing out on the deck of the boat with the wind and rain blowing in our faces. We didn't do it once the boat turned around and went into the wind though. Then it was just a little to cold. We were, after all, "just a couple of stubble jumpers and not old sea dogs" he told me.
These are the memories that I treasure and the reason that, to me, the whole trip was not a waste.
I wrote this song after John left us. I know that he is in heaven and he is watching over us all. I miss you brother...I love you forever.
I remember being little. In some ways, I think this is when I knew my Uncle John the best.
He and my dad worked together at the grain elevator. Most of my interactions with him were sort of a result of a relationship with my parents, but it never felt that way. I always felt important to him. I loved the few times when we would pick up my dad or visit him at work, and Uncle John would be there. He had the best laugh and the best smile. I just loved seeing my Uncle John.
I think probably my fondest memories of him are talking to him on the phone. He would call to talk to my dad, but when I answered, I got to talk to him, too. Just thinking about it makes me smile. I can't remember anything that we specifically talked about; but I remember kneeling in the chair next to the counter on the old corded phone when I talked to him, and especially how much I enjoyed it. And I always had the feeling that he genuinely enjoyed it, too. He wasn't just humoring me. It was never just a "Hey, how're you doing? Great, can I talk to your dad?" He always took the time because he cared. He WANTED to talk to me. He loved me. And I loved him.
That's what it all measures up to: LOVE.
