By: Keyleigh Harlan
I am one of those in which no words can provide me comfort. In fact, talking about people and things I've lost causes me immeasurable pain. So, as an alternative, I write. I've written about many losses and my greatest pains, but I never thought I would have to write about John Foster Hendricks.
I met John sixth grade year at Adairville Middle School. He was scrawnier, shorter, and didn't think about track or cross country, but rather golf, in these days. Our teachers introduced him as Laura and Kristen's cousin from Georgia, and that was that. We had many students come to Adairville, but only a handful stuck around. You can guess which category John Foster was in. It became obvious that his school in Georgia was drastically different than ours, students and teachers included. But the thing about John was that, even in his first few months in Logan County, he could make you feel like you had known him your whole life. Most times, we even forgot that John had transferred into Adairville in middle school and not in kindergarten. He quickly adapted into our sassiness, our determination to not take the 7 Habits seriously, and our annoying habit of being the loudest in every room.
He became best friends with Brennan and Connor, creating the most dynamic bromance Logan County had ever seen.
He joined the academic team, starting every match and answering most of the questions. In addition, John was the entertainment at gas stations after our academic team wins.
John was also an integral member of the Adairville basketball team. He shared jokes, did weird dances, and spread his goofy laugh throughout the season (Yes, the following picture was an actual edit made by the 8th graders during their last middle school basketball season).
Like I mentioned above, John quickly became one of us. My favorite memory, or at least the funniest, of John came out of 8th grade year while we were attending the Kentucky Youth Assembly in Louisville. Joe and Kaye, John's parents, came as supervisors, and, well, if you ever met middle school John, you knew he was so well behaved (even more so back then) when his parents were around. On this particular trip, he was an angel. However, on the second day, while returning from the Kentucky Capitol, John, as well as the rest of us, was fast asleep. When we got back to the hotel, we walked up to our floor in a haze and (not really) listened to the plan for the rest of the day from Mrs. Garrett and Ms. Ramsey. All of the sudden, John starts walking down the hallway. While his parents and our advisers asked him where he was, John simply replied, “I was still on the bus”. You see, we were all so tired that none of us noticed John was still asleep in his seat, which includes the bus driver. Luckily, John woke up right before she could pull out on the interstate to head back home. He surprised our bus driver, Miss Penny, so much that she was positive that Jesus had returned and was speaking to her. For the rest of the trip, it became a huge joke with John and his parents. Thankfully, this joke came back to Adairville and found its way to the halls of LCHS. This story went along perfectly with the other story about John breaking his ankle while we were ice skating on the BETA trip seventh grade year, but that can be told another time (Apparently, Austin Epley is to blame).
Freshmen year, John and I got split up between the two cats. However, we had AP Environmental Science together at the end of the day. What a class that was, especially with John and Mrs. Lee clashing every day. He made the lectures humorous and the labs enjoyable. John could make these little comments about everything we did in there, and, while Mrs. Lee definitely did not agree, everyone else in the class appreciated John's sense of humor.
After school, I saw John running different trails during track practice. This was when I got to meet John the Runner. He was good, especially if you look at his times from freshmen year, as a long distance runner. John was serious and always put forth 110% in wherever he was running or stretching or walking. You could see he actually loved running and could do it all day (this never actually happened because the long distance runners always finished the workouts Coach Howard gave them within the first hour of practice). As time passed, everyone began to notice John the Runner, whether it be through cross country, track, or the many marathons he ran with his parents. Whether you knew John or not, you could see that he was a serious athlete, an ideal athlete. He applied every criticism, used every ounce of energy, and always prepared his mind and body for the next race. If you look on paper, you can see just how much his hard work paid off. But that was nothing compared to actually seeing him run.
I never had the opportunity to see John swim, but I do see the impact he left on the swim team. He was one of their captains, a leader. He led every swim meet with grace and fortitude, and, like with everything else, always gave 110%. I wish I could have seen that John because from what I heard, he was a pivotal and shining member of the team, always leading from the front.
John had a big heart for helping others. So, as written about in Mr.Bailey’s article, John started the Junior Optimist Club at LCHS this year. I joined because John asked me to. I remember that meeting Mr. Bailey wrote about. With everyone in the room being friends, funny comments and remarks were thrown out during John's presentation. Of course, he took it in stride. He made sure everyone felt comfortable, and we knew this was something he was very serious about. You could tell by the research he had done, not only after the club's history and founding, but also of places in Logan County he called that needed help or supplies, especially around the holiday season. John Foster was already planning for an official chapter meeting to confirm Logan County's chapter of the Optimist Club, however we had to cancel it twice due to a special guest not being able to make it and then the cancellation of school. I remember asking John if he knew when the meeting would finally be, and he said it was just a formality. He wanted us to go ahead and get started on helping the community. I feel like everything that could be said about John and the Optimist Club has already been said by Mr. Bailey. However, I can reiterate: John cared so much about helping others that he organized a club with that exact objective and asked his friends to join and help out. Of course we did because John had asked, and, since John asked, you knew it wouldn’t be a waste of time.
I'm really glad John's last name was Hendricks. That's because, due to how our school organized things, we got to be in the same CATS time. For thirty minutes every day, John and I would have the chance to talk. We would talk about Adairville, cross country, politics, clubs, or we would just sit and roll this stress ball he found back and forth while Jaron and John talked about their future plans for engineering. About a month ago, I told John that I had kind of learned how to play chess. He said we should play, and he downloaded a chess app so that we could continually play, even if we weren't in CATS. He beat me. Many times. However, John would explain the mistakes I made and the moves I could have done. This helped aid the sting of him continuously beating me.
On December 12, John and I had a really personal conversation during CATS time. We had to go to the gym, so naturally John, Jaron, and I sat together. I asked John about some things and he answered everything, giving me a glimpse into his perspective about the world around him. We talked about UK and how he was happy to commit to UK early on in the year to guarantee his spot and figure out housing. He was really excited about their engineering program. We talked nonstop for the entire thirty minutes, even continuing the conversation to his locker. This was the last, true conversation I had with him, excluding quick words we shared later that day in the library.
John Foster was voted as ‘Most Likely to Change the World’ in our senior superlatives. However, what I didn’t realize until it was too late, was that he had already changed our world here in Logan County. John was a friend, a teammate, a captain, a scholar, an athlete, and especially, a son. He was a role model to his friends and the adults around him. He was constantly innovating our school without any recognition and surpassing the amount of awards and accolades one can receive. John was goofy and a jokester, while also being serious and independent. There is so much John left me, but, for right now, there is only one thing I can truly feel: grief.
You see, grief is like an anchor chained to your ankle that is preventing you from reaching the air of healing, instead causing you to sink in four of the stages and grasp for the final stage: acceptance.
It has been only one month, and I am still sinking.
But that is okay.
There are five different stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance, and one of the counselors who came to the school told me them and simply asked which stage I was in. I didn’t have an answer for her at the time, but I do now. I have been through all the stages, but I keep returning to anger. It feels like I am angry at everyone. Everyone but John. I cannot will myself to be angry at him. The counselor they made me talk to at school said I must still be in shock since I am not angry at him for his mistake. But I'm not in shock, and I am not angry at John. I refuse to believe those are mutually exclusive.
I am angry at myself for not being a better friend, for not seeing signs, for being so caught up in everything else that I couldn't see what was right in front of me. I am angry at myself for being so consumed in my own grief, I couldn't help my friends through theirs. I am angry at myself for not taking advantage of every conversation I had with John because I thought there would be a million more opportunities. I am angry at myself for being angry with everyone around me.
That is not fair.
It is not fair that I have resentment, with the strength of anger, towards those who are grieving differently than me. The Monday and Tuesday that followed what happened were the angriest I have ever been in my life. Every time someone would mention John's name, talk about what happened, bring up a memory, or even ask if I was okay, I would want to punch them really hard in the face. It still feels like that, if we are being completely honest with one another. But for most people, that helps them, talking about John Foster and what happened. It felt like torture to me, like furiously rubbing salt through a deep, fresh wound.
You see, grieving someone hurts (there is actually a phrase I would like to use but it is not quite school appropriate). It feels all consuming and invents pain you didn’t know existed, like hearing John’s laugh in the quiet moments or your brain replaying a memory of John you had forgotten. At moments, it feels like I am in competition with the rest of you; to see who can stop crying and move on first. However, I know some of us are still losing right now. But that’s okay. We need time because no one can feel this pain and loss for us. So, take time. I know we are on break right now and maybe when we go back to school, it will be expected of us to not be in as much pain as we were beforehand and to continue our last semester with dignity and poise. But if you can’t do that, that’s okay. Grief is not a race nor is it easy. We have to remember John, love John, and cherish every moment we had with him while we had him. And that is a very painful path to walk, and it is only us who can walk it.
Sometimes it feels a semi-truck is slamming into my chest. There is such a physical and emotional heaviness at these times that I have no other choice but to start sobbing, even though it feels like I will never stop. This happens a lot while I’m driving, which I know is not the safest thing in the world, but no matter how loud my radio is, my brain decides to scream louder with memories. But in these moments, I can without a doubt confirm that I am still in unimaginable pain. It is always there, however subtle it may be, but when this semi-truck hits my heart, it really hits. I can talk about John all day long, but when I truly begin to think about him, it brings such an emotional suffering that feels never-ending. Even when I’m laughing about an odd John memory, I am crying. But that’s okay.
I found a quote online from Terri Irwin from when she lost her husband. She says, “Grief is never something you get over. You don't wake up one morning and say, 'I've conquered that; now I'm moving on.' It's something that walks beside you every day. And if you can learn how to manage it and honour the person that you miss, you can take something that is incredibly sad and have some form of positivity.” This walk we are on is going to be tough. But, I know John is with us on it, although he is probably running up ahead at a record breaking speed like he typically did.
Losing John Foster will never feel real, and it shouldn’t. But the comfort for me is that I knew John’s faith and of his relationship with God, and there is no doubt in my mind of where he is now. John was a runner. He was a good one, too. But he ended his race too early, far before the finish line. So, we must keep running our own path with his life on our minds, his faith in our hearts, and his hands on our shoulders. We have a long way to go, but we never have to go it alone.
