Remembering John

My good friend and coworker John Harris Staton of College Park, MD, passed away suddenly at the beginning of the year.

A mutual friend called me in the middle of the night to tell me John was gone, and it was so unexpected I literally asked “you mean….you can’t find him?” John being gone in a permanent way was not even something I had ever really considered, much less was it something I was prepared to comprehend in that moment.

I first started working with John just shy of ten years ago, and he was a man that was instantly warm, radiating a kindness and gentleness like no one else. His passion for the things he was interested in was unbounded, and he loved to share it with others; at the same time, he loved to hear other people’s passions, and and let their enthusiasm wash over him.

He was a great listener and conversationalist, and deeply knowledgeable.

When I moved north from my hometown in Western North Carolina, I was leaving all my family and closest friends 8 hours away. I struggled to make friends in a new big city at first, and perhaps that’s partly why I grew so close to John and other coworkers so quickly. John slotted into my life in the same place that a big brother would have, something that as the older sibling, I never had. I looked forward to sharing my triumphs in life with him, and when I needed someone to vent to, John was always happy to listen. He was deeply supportive, always cheering me on for various projects, and not just me, but his grace extended to my partner and my wider circle of friends. If I cared about someone, he cared about them.

It’s funny John was so present in my life, but in many ways he was very tight lipped about his own. I picked up bits about his family relationships here and there, his old friends, people he knew from his time in college and from spaces online. It wasn’t like he never wanted to talk about himself, he was just private; and he genuinely made you feel like he’d rather hear about what you had to say, anyway. In hindsight, I wish I’d pressed him more, but then again, I know I wouldn’t have. John deserved his privacy about things, and I’m grateful he did open up to me about the things he did, when he did.

In the aftermath of John’s absence, his world opened up to me a little more — in reaching out in my grief to others who knew him, I found myself connected to some of the people I only knew as fond memories in John’s stories, as we all connected over the loss. A small group of us came together, dedicated to give him a wonderful send off, something he deserved, for the expansive comics community he left behind. Over the last several months, I worked with them to organize a Celebration of Life event, raising funds to rent out the College Park Aviation Museum, one of his favorite places, and securing a memorial plaque for him on the wall there. We all of us worked together to get the date and time secured, built a website to disseminate information and get an RSVP out, arrange for catering, have photos and artwork displayed, and make a space for folks to share their best memories of John. It was grueling work, not in and of itself, but because of the emotional toll. That said, I’m so proud of all of us and the work we did together, and it was so absolutely worth it, and I’m both honored and blessed to have been involved. I mean that.

I could list his achievements here, but others have done so elsewhere in a more thorough manner, and in a weird way I almost feel like I have imposter syndrome about being his friend — I can’t believe I was allowed to be.

I’ve wanted to make this post for a while, but finding the words has just been…hard. His loss is still deeply felt, but now that I’m on the other side of his Celebration of Life, I feel a bit like I can exhale a little.

Thank you for being such a great friend, John; to say you’ll be missed is an understatement, but I know where words fail me, wherever you are, you know exactly what I mean.