crydun
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Grief can come upon you when you least expect it. It looms like a dark cloud that slowly grazes through the sky. Then, without warning, it can pull you by the hair and knock you off your feet. So it was for me the day we lost John Ritter.
September 11, 2003 dawned like any other day. The sun filtered through my bedroom windows as I awoke slowly, grateful for not having early classes. I got out of bed and bounded down the hall. As I entered the kitchen, I heard the following statement: Actor John Ritter died suddenly last night from an undetected heart problem. Details are pending.”
“What?” I demanded as my mind reeled. It couldn’t be. It had to be a mistake. Kings just don’t die suddenly like this. Surely, my ears were deceiving me. My mother was sitting on the sofa. “Isn’t it awful? Can you believe it?” she inquired with tear-filled eyes. I thought of all the movies we would never see now that he is gone. 8 Simple Rules was our favorite sitcom. It was our Tuesday night ritual. We’d grab a snack and watch the antics of John Ritter’s character on TV. “What happened to him?” I asked, my breath quickening.
“They don’t know. It just came on TV this morning. They are investigating it now.”
Again, my head went into a tailspin. This couldn’t be happening. Later, it was announced that he had a torn aorta in his heart. He literally bled to death. What an awful way to die. Especially for a comic legend like John Ritter. As the theme from Three’s Company played, I looked at the pictures flashing on the screen of his life. In almost every one, he had a big smile on his face. John left a legacy behind. A legacy filled with warmth and laughter. You can’t even say the name “John Ritter” without smiling. The more you think about him, the bigger the smile gets. All at once, you feel happiness exploding out of your body in big splatters of emotion.
The only other times in my when I have grieved this way were when my grandmother died in 1990 and my next door neighbor in 2001. I was extremely close to both of them. Yet, here is a man who’s a national icon I’ve never met and I want to weep every five minutes. Why? What has pulled me into the life of this man that was so close to my heart yet so far away?
I think his widow Amy Yasbek answered that question in her Primetime interview with Diane Sawyer. When asked if there was anything about John that the public didn’t know, any dark secrets that he kept hidden from the spotlight, Amy said, “That’s the amazing thing. There isn’t anything. What you see on the screen of 8 Simple Rules, that’s him! That’s John. So, if you watched him on TV, you DID know him.”
Then, there is the tender matter of John’s five year old daughter, Stella. It is for her that I grieve the most. To be five years old and lose your father who is a national icon must be extremely painful. Although life must go on, the pain never really ends. There is always something there to remind you. A picture, a long lost interview, Clifford the Big Red Dog on your computer.
On the other hand, this can also be a blessing. My grandmother and I were extremely close. Yet, I can no longer remember the sound of her voice, no matter how hard I close my eyes. That is painful for me. Stella will never have that problem. Her father will always be around her, in the long legacy of movies, sitcoms and other streams of consciousness that he left behind. Hence, he will never be forgotten.
As I write this, I hear a faint ringing of bells in the distance. Surely, John is getting his wings. Long live the legacy of laughter that he left behind.
September 11, 2003 dawned like any other day. The sun filtered through my bedroom windows as I awoke slowly, grateful for not having early classes. I got out of bed and bounded down the hall. As I entered the kitchen, I heard the following statement: Actor John Ritter died suddenly last night from an undetected heart problem. Details are pending.”
“What?” I demanded as my mind reeled. It couldn’t be. It had to be a mistake. Kings just don’t die suddenly like this. Surely, my ears were deceiving me. My mother was sitting on the sofa. “Isn’t it awful? Can you believe it?” she inquired with tear-filled eyes. I thought of all the movies we would never see now that he is gone. 8 Simple Rules was our favorite sitcom. It was our Tuesday night ritual. We’d grab a snack and watch the antics of John Ritter’s character on TV. “What happened to him?” I asked, my breath quickening.
“They don’t know. It just came on TV this morning. They are investigating it now.”
Again, my head went into a tailspin. This couldn’t be happening. Later, it was announced that he had a torn aorta in his heart. He literally bled to death. What an awful way to die. Especially for a comic legend like John Ritter. As the theme from Three’s Company played, I looked at the pictures flashing on the screen of his life. In almost every one, he had a big smile on his face. John left a legacy behind. A legacy filled with warmth and laughter. You can’t even say the name “John Ritter” without smiling. The more you think about him, the bigger the smile gets. All at once, you feel happiness exploding out of your body in big splatters of emotion.
The only other times in my when I have grieved this way were when my grandmother died in 1990 and my next door neighbor in 2001. I was extremely close to both of them. Yet, here is a man who’s a national icon I’ve never met and I want to weep every five minutes. Why? What has pulled me into the life of this man that was so close to my heart yet so far away?
I think his widow Amy Yasbek answered that question in her Primetime interview with Diane Sawyer. When asked if there was anything about John that the public didn’t know, any dark secrets that he kept hidden from the spotlight, Amy said, “That’s the amazing thing. There isn’t anything. What you see on the screen of 8 Simple Rules, that’s him! That’s John. So, if you watched him on TV, you DID know him.”
Then, there is the tender matter of John’s five year old daughter, Stella. It is for her that I grieve the most. To be five years old and lose your father who is a national icon must be extremely painful. Although life must go on, the pain never really ends. There is always something there to remind you. A picture, a long lost interview, Clifford the Big Red Dog on your computer.
On the other hand, this can also be a blessing. My grandmother and I were extremely close. Yet, I can no longer remember the sound of her voice, no matter how hard I close my eyes. That is painful for me. Stella will never have that problem. Her father will always be around her, in the long legacy of movies, sitcoms and other streams of consciousness that he left behind. Hence, he will never be forgotten.
As I write this, I hear a faint ringing of bells in the distance. Surely, John is getting his wings. Long live the legacy of laughter that he left behind.



