Will's World: Will's World 03 26 2010

John F. Monahan: Dec. 7, 1954 --- March 19, 2010

“Toward the end of T.S. Eliot’s life,” according to author Bernard Bergonzi in ‘T.S. Eliot,’ “a friend asked him if he could say more about some lines from Little Gidding:

And what the dead had no speech for, when living,

They can tell you, being dead: the communication

Of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living.

Eliot replied that we cannot fully understand a person’s life, and grasp the totality of his being, until he is dead: ‘Once he is dead, the acts of his life fall into their proper perspective and we can see what he was tending toward.’ ”

But even in death, as in life, it’s very difficult to get a proper perspective of John F. Monahan. John, 55, my dear friend for over 35 years, died last Friday, March 19, by his own effort and left many grieving friends and baffled relatives wondering why.

It was not because his life’s work was complete. John seldom completed anything. His life and his years as a talented photojournalist were an ongoing project with no end in sight. He existed to be doing; he rarely contemplated any long-range results of his actions. He was too busy doing. Capturing the exact photo he wanted; finding the exact word he needed; determining the exact moment to act.

John was interested in, and knew something about, most everything --- atoms to Adam; zits to Zaphod Beeblebrox --- and still thirsted for more knowledge and understanding. But he was never able to understand the complexities of everyday life: the monthly bills, the legal documents; the required forms; the rituals that most folks must go through to have an orderly existence.

He was too busy doing. He was on a quest but I’m not sure if he even knew exactly what would indicate that his quest was attained. He seemed to be fascinated by the journey and intoxicated by air itself.

In recent months John had focused more and more on religious matters. Some might want to believe that he finally achieved his quest by fully embracing his spirituality and his journey has ended in a beautiful place.

But I don’t know and never will. John and I had a falling out. He was extremely angry at me and refused to talk to me during the last weeks of his life. He felt that I betrayed our friendship. I considered him irrational and didn’t bother to respond to some of the statements he made to others.

Maybe it was I who was irrational. I loved John like a brother for three decades then in his last few weeks, when I knew that he was struggling with depression and worse, I foolishly did not try hard enough to break through the barrier between us. I was ignorant of his many recent activities and naively thought that once he got over being angry at me that we would once again be friends. But I didn’t try hard enough to help a friend.

I let him down, and he died.