remembering John

In the library meeting room
interfaith, spiritual,
memoir enthusiasts gather.
Mom takes her pen, jotting notes
from long ago, before Dad, before me.

Sorrows and blessings we’re asked
to ponder. Hers, the sorrow
of a sixteenth birthday weekend.
Helping her mother at the junior high church retreat. Her
father out on the road with the college quartet.
Her older brother on his way, riding
with friends from the U of O, where he finished
his freshman year.

Mom and her best friends helped serve dinner, then
they escaped. A carnival in coastal Florence.
Bright eyes, flushed cheeks. Returning
to church camp to be scolded. “You snuck off,
we didn’t know where. We’ll deal with you
tomorrow.”

Next thing she knew, a flashlight shown,
she and her mother awakened on the sleeping porch.
Her mother’s dear friend: “Nelle, a sheriff’s here. He
has to tell you something, dear Nelle.”
Mom can still hear her mother sobbing beside her.
John, in the river. His friends survived the crash. He
couldn’t swim.

Someone offered to take them home. Nelle insisted
they drive along the Umpqua, and so they came upon
emergency workers, still dragging for his body.
John’s friends remained, waiting, dazed,
shivering. Mom watched her mother step from
the car and go to them. She comforted, telling them,
do not fear. Her John was this moment in
heaven.