Next to his mother in Paris, near our farm.

I couldn’t make it there myself. It’s 12 hours by car, and I don’t have the kind of money or time to take off like that, even if I made a direct trip there and back.

John’s mom died when he was a baby. His dad was wrecked by the loss, and developed serious narcolepsy. He was raised in part by a foster mother during his adolescence. He had a difficult life all around, and its untimely end was gruesome (and possibly criminal.) But he was always a good and loyal friend to me. I will miss him terribly.

I really wish I could have made it.