John Axford

  Decadence has been escaping me these last few weeks, or I should say that the decadence isn't fresh.  I've realized that trying to chronicle my exploits is a boring endeavour.  I do the same shit all the time. SO instead of yet another self absorbed account of booze, oak trees, football and blondes, I'm going to throw some real shit atcha.

I wrote this a few months ago and I feel now is the time to put it out there.

 Early September-Late o'Clock
"
    A great man is dying, and it sucks.  As I try to be funny about things that happen here, it’s hard because there is something happening here that isn’t at all funny.  My stepfather is dying.  And he didn’t do anything to deserve it.  I know that no one lives forever, but I just think that God should give some warning.  Not just let you have a great birthday dinner to celebrate 75, and then the next day, simply strike you down.  That is just not fair.  It’s not fucking fair.  Period. 

    Dear God,

THIS SHIT IS NOT FAIR.  NOT EVEN A LITTLE FUCKING FAIR, YOU-DAMMIT.
   
    -Chris

    But that is what happened to my stepfather, John Axford.  Football coach, hockey lover, captain of industry.  One day fine.  The next day, not. 

    It has been nearly 10 weeks since his first stroke and progress was fantastic.  Then three weeks ago, his body betrayed us again.  I have always heard that God tests us.  He tested Jesus and he tests us.  Well, you know what God, we’re not Jesus.  This shit is fucked up and it is not fair.  We’re not supposed to remember him like this.  The John we know is a smart ass who loves ice cream and the Braves.  Not the guy laying in that fucking hospital bed.  He hates that.  I hate that. All of those who love him hate that.
    John is the most positive man I have ever met.  While in his half sleep, half wake, status, when asked questions he always answers with a “Yeah,” even when he doesn’t feel like a Yeah.

“Hey John, you feeling good today?”

“Yah........pretty good.”

“How bout Michigan State?”

“Yah...  They looked good.”

    I don’t even know what Michigan State did last weekend, so I know that John doesn’t.  But that is the kind of guy he is.  He wants you to feel good about whatever it is that you’re talking about.  He wants the people around him to be happy.  No matter what. 
    Before I left the hospital tonight I asked,
 “John, you good?  You need anything?”

“Nah........I just want to get outta here.”  he said.

Me too, Paw.  I want us to get outta here too.        "



 It is now about five months later, and we're outta there. We are out of the hospital,  that is, which is something, but I don't think that I will ever sit in his living room and talk sports with him again.

Instead, John is at the State Veteran's Home, and is relatively better.  He won't get all the way better, but what used to be a dreaded trip to Karn's to feed him, literally feed him, has turned a bit.  I look forward to my few hours with him.  Granted, he is a different person, but the flashes of his old self make it great.  He knows us, he gets our jokes, and though his sense of time and space may be askew, for the first time in six months, I can see and hear John in there. 

Now when I go out there, I bring takeout food from somewhere, anywhere.  And though John still cannot walk or scratch the left side of his face, he can eat a cheeseburger and give me the Thursday night pick in football. 

"John, Georgia Tech plus 14 and a half against Virginia Tech.  What do you think?" I asked

As he took yet another bite of ice cream, he said, " That's a lot of points."  I took Georgia Tech and won.  And that is what I have always loved about my stepfather, John.  Lord knows I have never been an easy son to love, and not his blood at that.  However, he always treated me like one.  And even when I was being the shithead that I can often be, John and I could always talk sports.  I will never forget the time that I was standing with John at the New Balance tailgate roughly 45 minutes before kickoff of the Whoever U game.  I was maybe 25 at the time, and though John had been my stepfather for seven years or so, and most likely had grown tired of the antics of which my mother couldn't hate me for(because she is the second greatest woman to ever grace the face,) asked me, "Chris, can you're guy take a hundred dollar bet right now?"

It turned out that he couldn't, but that wasn't the point. That was the time when John Axford and I  became friends.  Not equals, not by a long shot, but tow guys that bet on football, and that one question spoke volumes. "Chris, I love your mother.  And I love your sister and I love you.  I don't have to, but I do, because that's what men do.  They love their family and you are family.  And though we will never discuss it or say it out loud,  talking about point spreads and football is how I will express it."  Of course this was never actually vocalized, but that is the way things are. 

Now John is much more vocal, and he definitely knows who and what is going on around him.  He isn't all there, but he is very long way from being all gone.  And that is the one thing in the whole world that gives me hope.