John Wesley Carr, R. I. P.

My sister just called to say that John Carr had committed suicide. You didn't know John, and I can't say that I did, either. I haven't seen him in nearly 40 years. But I remember when he was born because I was friends with his brother and sisters, and his mother as well. He was one of those babies who came along as a kind of surprise, I think, so his siblings were much older. I used to visit them, and when John was old enough, I'd play games with him: Cootie and jacks, mostly. I used to be pretty good at jacks. After he started reading, I let him borrow one of my Bomba the Jungle Boy books. That was about the time I was going away to college, and I didn't think about the book again until it arrived here in Alvin a few years ago with a short note from John, thanking me for letting him borrow it. I wonder if even then he was thinking about tying up some loose ends. He suffered from severe depression, and I believe that medication would have helped him, but he refused to take it. Now he's dead, and all I can think of is the little tow-headed boy I used to play jacks with. Damn.