Halloween masks and peanut butter cookies
September 28th, 2008
John holding 2-month-old Annalie, July 2004
My uncle, John David Adams, passed away this morning. He was my mom’s baby brother. He was 45 years old.
His death wasn’t exactly shocking. I think we all knew it was only a matter of time. John had been in ill health for a while. He’d had asthma his whole life, and complicated that by smoking heavily. He developed chronic obstructive pulmonary disease as well as congestive heart failure. He was hospitalized a number of times in the past couple of years, and even talking on the phone made him gasp for breath.
John was more or less the black sheep of the family. He chose to live much of his life on the fringes of society, doing drugs and working only as much as he had to. He did manage to get clean and live a “normal” life here and there, especially when his three daughters were little, but those times were unfortunately few and fleeting. He broke the hearts of everyone who loved him again and again. It got to the point where some of my relatives couldn’t stand the heartbreak and the betrayal. They felt they had no choice but to cut John out of their lives. I can’t say I blame them.
My mom was in a different position from most of her family, since she lives in Nebraska and was usually 1,300 miles away from John. It was harder for him to impose on her, so she felt freer to help him occasionally. It was easier for her to see him on her visits to California without feeling the weight of a lifetime’s baggage. When John’s daughters moved with their mom to Las Vegas, my mom made a point of trying to visit them at least once a year. I think it’s safe to say that we probably saw his daughters more often in the last decade of his life than John did.
My mom, John, me, and 2-month-old Annalie in the infant carrier, July 2004
The sad thing is, I know John loved his daughters. Whenever we visited them, my mom would take tons of photos and send copies to John. Even during the darkest times John would be sure to let my mom know how much he appreciated the photos. When we saw him, which was rarely, he would always talk proudly about the last time he’d talked to or seen his girls, about how smart they all were and how pretty, and how glad he was that they were making better decisions than he had made at their ages. He knew he wasn’t the best father in the world; he knew he’d broken many promises. But he loved them.
My mom flew into Southern California tonight. Annalie and I are driving her up to the boondocks tomorrow so she can start taking care of the details. I’ll help her as much as I can, and my Uncle Allen is driving down from Northern California to help too. John had almost no possessions, he wanted to be cremated, and I don’t know if there will even be a memorial service—my mom’s family isn’t real big on funerals—so I don’t know what kind of details we’ll have to take care of. But I am sure there will be details; when someone dies, there always are.
I’ll remember three things about John most vividly. First, I’ll remember his smile, and his laugh. John had one of those smiles that totally lit up his face and you couldn’t help but smile back. When something struck him as funny, his laugh seemed to well up from the soles of his feet, a great bark of joy, and it was so contagious you couldn’t help but laugh too, even if you had missed the joke, even if you were annoyed at him. He was, as everyone in my mom’s family is, a fantastic laugher.
Second, I’ll remember the Halloween masks. When I was about Annalie’s age and John was 16, he came to Omaha for a visit. It was October, and we’d already bought our costumes. Mine was a Barbie costume, one of those cheap plastic ones that went on like a hospital gown with ties in the back—remember those?—and it came with a face mask complete with bright yellow hair, pink lips, and blue eyeshadow and black lashes painted above the eyeholes. I was afraid of masks back then, whether it was someone else wearing a gorilla mask or me wearing a cheap Halloween mask held on with a thin elastic cord. So I was planning to just wear pink lipstick and blue eyeshadow instead of the mask. But while John was there, he started goofing around and putting on our Halloween masks. For some reason I didn’t run from the room screaming in fear. I looked at my tall, burly Uncle John wearing the very feminine Barbie mask and thought it was the funniest thing I’d ever seen. He even talked in a falsetto while wearing it, which made my brother and me howl with delight. There is a photo somewhere of John in the Barbie mask, my brother and me standing in front of him laughing our heads off. I was never afraid of masks after that.
Third, I’ll remember the day he taught me how to make Three-Ingredient Peanut Butter Cookies. We were sitting around one day a few years before Annalie was born, discussing our favorite recipes and the jobs he’d had cooking in various restaurants, and he said something about the easiest peanut butter cookie recipe ever. When he told me the ingredients with a twinkle in his eye, I looked at him for about five seconds with my mouth open before jumping up to rummage through my Aunt Julie’s fridge and pantry for the required ingredients. I had to try it for myself! So we made a batch together, and he wasn’t pulling my leg, and they were indeed the easiest cookies I’d ever made. They were very rich too. Many’s the time I’ve been craving something sweet at 8 o’clock at night and have thrown a batch of these together, smiling as I remember the time I made cookies with my Uncle John.
Three-Ingredient Peanut Butter Cookies
- 1 c. peanut butter*
- 1 c. granulated sugar
- 1 egg
Preheat the oven to 350F. Combine the peanut butter and sugar. Add the egg and mix thoroughly. Roll into 1-inch balls and place a couple of inches apart on a baking sheet. Flatten each ball by making a criss-cross pattern with the tines of a fork on the dough. (Alternately, roll each ball in granulated sugar before placing on the sheet, and use the bottom of a glass to flatten slightly.)
Bake for 8-12 minutes, till cookies are done. Cool slightly on baking sheets, then remove to a rack. Makes 12-16 cookies.
* A commercial peanut butter, like Jif or Skippy, works best. I made these once with natural peanut butter and the oil separated out and basically fried the cookies, which were rock hard.
September 29th, 2008 at 4:00 am
My sincere sympathies to you and your Mom, Bethany. I think we all have a “John” in our lives somewhere ….the ups and downs are hard, but now mostly the good and funny memories will be left. Your story was a very fitting eulogy to your uncle. You will be in my thoughts.
September 29th, 2008 at 5:10 am
Bethany,
I’m thinking of you. I liked reading this post - writing is such a good way to remember the people we care about.
Hugs!
Maura
September 29th, 2008 at 6:01 am
I’m sorry for your families loss, but I’m glad you are able to remember the good things.
September 29th, 2008 at 6:05 am
It sounds like you’ll miss your Uncle John - challenges and all. I will be giving his PB Cookie recipe a try just as soon as I have a kitchen again…those are three ingredients I *always* have and I love peanut butter cookies!
September 29th, 2008 at 7:40 am
I agree with Maura, writing things out is a great tribute to the those we love.
Tiny baby Annalie… so precious.
And I’m glad you gave the note about natural peanut butter in that recipe. I want to try it when I’m back home, but I would have whipped out my jar of organic/natural PB, ruined a batch and thought the recipe was a bummer! I’ll use my hubby’s PB instead!
September 29th, 2008 at 7:58 am
So I made Uncle John’s cookies and I didn’t even know it. They sure were good. What a nice memory.
September 29th, 2008 at 8:33 am
I’m sorry for the loss of your family. Rest in peace, Uncle John.
Thank you for sharing some of your nicest memories of him.
September 29th, 2008 at 9:24 am
Hugs, and peace for the details … what great memories :). May the laughter win out … you can sure see it in his face in those pics!
September 29th, 2008 at 9:33 am
You’ve really paid him such a nice remembrance here. It’s very obvious he was full of laughter in all of those pics. Much luck with all the details and etc. and I’m so sorry for your loss.
September 29th, 2008 at 9:57 am
Thank you so much everyone for your kind words and condolences! They really mean a lot.
September 29th, 2008 at 10:19 am
He looks like such a sweet man in the photos you posted, Bethany. You are so sweet and caring to post about him.
Hugs,
Michelle
September 29th, 2008 at 10:26 am
bethany, this is such a nice tribute to him. i’m very sorry that he had to go at such a young age. my thought are with you and your family.
September 29th, 2008 at 10:50 am
My heart goes out to you Bethany and your Mom. It sure sounds like you guys loved your Uncle and gave him as much love as you could. Your memories of him are wonderful and I am glad you have these to hold close to your heart. Will be thinking of you while you are with your Mom taking care of the details.
September 29th, 2008 at 10:58 am
I’m so sorry to hear of the loss of your uncle. Thank you for sharing your stories of him with us. I’m praying for your family during this tough time. I hope your uncle is finally at peace.
September 29th, 2008 at 11:59 am
Thinking of you and yours today.
September 29th, 2008 at 1:16 pm
What a wonderful, beautifully written tribute. The details - really wonderful and inspiring. You and your family are in my prayers.
September 29th, 2008 at 2:17 pm
Sending a hug to you and your family.
You better bet I’ll be trying that cookie recipe :)
September 29th, 2008 at 2:50 pm
I’m sorry to hear your sad news. You really painted quite a picture of John - not least in that Barbie mask :)
September 29th, 2008 at 3:40 pm
That was a very nice memorial. I’m glad you remember the good times.
September 29th, 2008 at 4:32 pm
I am glad that you have such heartwarming memories of your uncle, Bethany! My sympathies are with you and your family at this time.
September 29th, 2008 at 6:13 pm
Thinking of you and your family, Bethany. Thank you for sharing the good memories :) Take care.
September 29th, 2008 at 8:12 pm
Much love to you and your mum Bethany. I’ll be thinking of you all.
It seems that despite the rocky times he was a wonderful man when it counted most.
Looking at the positives is a wonderful way to remember him.
September 30th, 2008 at 12:10 am
I’m sorry for your family’s loss. You’ve captured the positive memories beautifully.
September 30th, 2008 at 9:27 am
What a nice way to remember your uncle. It reminds me that although I don’t agree with the way that many of my family members are wearing that they are still my family and I should love them as they are.
September 30th, 2008 at 11:00 am
Your memories are so sweet and your post beautiful. Your heart shines through so vividly.
I hope it all goes well with your family as you take care of the details.
xoxo
September 30th, 2008 at 2:10 pm
Lovely memories, Bethany. Thank you for sharing. What a wonderful easy recipe to learn from him! Peace to you and yours.
October 1st, 2008 at 10:45 am
I love a person with a great laugh - so infectious. As I’m sure the PB cookies will be! Thanks for sharing the recipe.
October 1st, 2008 at 7:32 pm
Those cookies are on my to-do list. They sound so yummy. He sounds like a character. I’m glad you have such wonderful memories about him.
October 2nd, 2008 at 1:47 pm
Sorry for your family’s loss. I’m glad that you have some cherished memories with your Uncle. I have an Aunt who has lived her life a lot like your Uncle John. Even though she has been out of the family loop and marching to her own beat, I have some great memories of her tucked away in my heart.
October 4th, 2008 at 8:57 pm
[...] Worrying about my cousins whose dad just died. [...]
October 8th, 2008 at 3:39 pm
My sympathies to you and your family for your loss.
October 13th, 2008 at 8:38 am
Just getting around to reading this now. I am so sorry for your loss and please pass that on to your mom as well from Kassie and I. Thanks so much for sharing it, it’s it’s own special type of eulogy (with great points that are so common for most families - including my own).