The Death of John Prine

News of John Prine's death hit me hard. I've written a bit about Prine and what he meant to me before. It's really all about my dad.

My dad was a challenging human being, to be sure. He did all manner of fucked up shit. He hit me, at times. He was always drunk. He cheated on my mom. But he was my dad, and he had good moments. He loved John Prine, and John Prine was the best thing he bequeathed to me, the best instance of his taste. So when I listen to John Prine, and watch his performances on the interweb, I suppose I always feel that I am seeing the best of my dad, my dad as he would have liked to have been. But now he is dead too.

Really, what more is there to say.

That night I had a dream that I was in a car with my uncle Haywood, who married my dad's sister Frances and was born, raised, and died on the same plot of land on 54 out west of Carrboro. He also was in charge -- by the end of his career -- of keeping all of UNC Memorial's equipment up and running, including the ventilators (he trained DC Whitenack to do the same). We were either driving along Rte 17 in New York south of the Finger Lakes (it is now I-86), or I was just telling him about it. A beautiful piece of road that we used to take every year on the way from Princeton to Kate's place in Canandaigua. I think the key here is that Frances and Haywood never traveled much until they retired -- I remember Frances saying to me sometime in college that she had no interest in going to Italy -- why would one ever want to? Then they retired and started traveling and loved it. Haywood died in 2007, Frances is now sinking deeper into Alzheimer's, truly the last of dad's generation.

Back in the dream, however, the stage shifted to the Steins' house/estate in something like the Berkshires, which was all snowy, and which, by tradition, they opened to the public around Thanksgiving so that the people could galavant around on the thousands of Stein acres. There was even a map of the property, including a castle/church thingie somewhere on the back portion, which I visited. Somewhere in there I woke up.

Dreams are funny.