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I’m haunted by time.

Haunted by the fear of a faded memory. Of forgetting a past so ingrained in my identity that I’m terrified to face who I am without it.

Haunted by the reminder that as each day grows further from the last, the more I realize just how much you’ve missed here on Earth.

Grief never gets easier. And time doesn’t heal all, no matter how many times they say it will. But, I know that there is a healing to be found, because you don’t move on from grief, you move with it.

Still missing you, Mom

Since ole @crackerbarrel has been in the news lately :) I thought I’d provide a little flashback to the Cracker Barrel 400 shoot 📸 @nashvillesuperspeedway

Next race: We’re gearing up to shoot the @musiccitygp this weekend 🇺🇸 🏎️💨

Since ole @crackerbarrel has been in the news lately :) I thought I’d provide a little flashback to the Cracker Barrel 400 shoot 📸 @nashvillesuperspeedway

Next race: We’re gearing up to shoot the @musiccitygp this weekend 🇺🇸 🏎️💨

Since ole @crackerbarrel has been in the news lately :) I thought I’d provide a little flashback to the Cracker Barrel 400 shoot 📸 @nashvillesuperspeedway

Next race: We’re gearing up to shoot the @musiccitygp this weekend 🇺🇸 🏎️💨

Since ole @crackerbarrel has been in the news lately :) I thought I’d provide a little flashback to the Cracker Barrel 400 shoot 📸 @nashvillesuperspeedway

Next race: We’re gearing up to shoot the @musiccitygp this weekend 🇺🇸 🏎️💨

Since ole @crackerbarrel has been in the news lately :) I thought I’d provide a little flashback to the Cracker Barrel 400 shoot 📸 @nashvillesuperspeedway

Next race: We’re gearing up to shoot the @musiccitygp this weekend 🇺🇸 🏎️💨

This is the first time these cameras have been opened since the 50s.

It’s also the first time I’ve ever seen my mom as a kid.

I’m speechless.

Happy birthday, Mom 💙

Journal Entry: A Farewell and a Beginning…

Journal Entry: A Farewell and a Beginning…

Journal Entry: A Farewell and a Beginning…

Journal Entry: A Farewell and a Beginning…

Journal Entry: A Farewell and a Beginning…

Journal Entry: A Farewell and a Beginning…

Journal Entry: A Farewell and a Beginning…

Journal Entry: A Farewell and a Beginning…

The last time I saw you was on a Thursday.

We were in that dreadful, old hospital room. The obnoxious sounds of your roommate’s television filled the air. A thin, plastic curtain separated us from someone else’s grandad. You held my hand tightly and asked, “You still there, John Boy Blue? Don’t leave me, please.” But I wasn’t going anywhere. I was trying to soothe you from any worries or fear that lay ahead, but tears fell from your eyes. When I kissed your forehead, I caught them with my finger upon your cheek—I like to think I still have them with me. Absorbing a part of you.

You were tired, torn between staying and going. You’d waited long enough to reunite with your wife, your son, and my mom. Selfishly, I wanted you to stay. I asked them for just one more week, one more holiday, one more year…but it wasn’t to be.

You passed away a week later on a Friday.

**********

As many of you know, I shared a rare bond with my grandfather, Charlie, who we lost last week. To me he was more than a grandfather—he was a father, a best friend, a healer and often my partner in tomfoolery :)

He was a storyteller; someone who brought people together with his levity and warmth. He was an innate creator of fellowship and a role model to many. He taught me how to fish, play golf, shoot a gun (Heck, I could list off about 50)—all the things of course a Southern boy should know. But more importantly, he taught me about faith and family.

In many ways, he was the closest connection I had to my mother. When I was with him, I felt her presence all around. Through his smile, through his gestures—it was hard not to see or to feel. As much as he helped me heal after she passed, I believe I helped him heal too. It was part of the reason why I moved to Nashville, to be near him, to continue to heal and protect one another; to create more memories with my best friend...

I’m really going to miss you, Charlie Lynn, “The Poor Man’s Friend.” Give mom and memaw a hug for me, will you?

Roll Tide,

-John “Boy Blue” Charles Lynn Jester

“I’ll be back quicker than you can say…Jack Robinson.”

The last time I saw you was on a Thursday.

We were in that dreadful, old hospital room. The obnoxious sounds of your roommate’s television filled the air. A thin, plastic curtain separated us from someone else’s grandad. You held my hand tightly and asked, “You still there, John Boy Blue? Don’t leave me, please.” But I wasn’t going anywhere. I was trying to soothe you from any worries or fear that lay ahead, but tears fell from your eyes. When I kissed your forehead, I caught them with my finger upon your cheek—I like to think I still have them with me. Absorbing a part of you.

You were tired, torn between staying and going. You’d waited long enough to reunite with your wife, your son, and my mom. Selfishly, I wanted you to stay. I asked them for just one more week, one more holiday, one more year…but it wasn’t to be.

You passed away a week later on a Friday.

**********

As many of you know, I shared a rare bond with my grandfather, Charlie, who we lost last week. To me he was more than a grandfather—he was a father, a best friend, a healer and often my partner in tomfoolery :)

He was a storyteller; someone who brought people together with his levity and warmth. He was an innate creator of fellowship and a role model to many. He taught me how to fish, play golf, shoot a gun (Heck, I could list off about 50)—all the things of course a Southern boy should know. But more importantly, he taught me about faith and family.

In many ways, he was the closest connection I had to my mother. When I was with him, I felt her presence all around. Through his smile, through his gestures—it was hard not to see or to feel. As much as he helped me heal after she passed, I believe I helped him heal too. It was part of the reason why I moved to Nashville, to be near him, to continue to heal and protect one another; to create more memories with my best friend...

I’m really going to miss you, Charlie Lynn, “The Poor Man’s Friend.” Give mom and memaw a hug for me, will you?

Roll Tide,

-John “Boy Blue” Charles Lynn Jester

“I’ll be back quicker than you can say…Jack Robinson.”

The last time I saw you was on a Thursday.

We were in that dreadful, old hospital room. The obnoxious sounds of your roommate’s television filled the air. A thin, plastic curtain separated us from someone else’s grandad. You held my hand tightly and asked, “You still there, John Boy Blue? Don’t leave me, please.” But I wasn’t going anywhere. I was trying to soothe you from any worries or fear that lay ahead, but tears fell from your eyes. When I kissed your forehead, I caught them with my finger upon your cheek—I like to think I still have them with me. Absorbing a part of you.

You were tired, torn between staying and going. You’d waited long enough to reunite with your wife, your son, and my mom. Selfishly, I wanted you to stay. I asked them for just one more week, one more holiday, one more year…but it wasn’t to be.

You passed away a week later on a Friday.

**********

As many of you know, I shared a rare bond with my grandfather, Charlie, who we lost last week. To me he was more than a grandfather—he was a father, a best friend, a healer and often my partner in tomfoolery :)

He was a storyteller; someone who brought people together with his levity and warmth. He was an innate creator of fellowship and a role model to many. He taught me how to fish, play golf, shoot a gun (Heck, I could list off about 50)—all the things of course a Southern boy should know. But more importantly, he taught me about faith and family.

In many ways, he was the closest connection I had to my mother. When I was with him, I felt her presence all around. Through his smile, through his gestures—it was hard not to see or to feel. As much as he helped me heal after she passed, I believe I helped him heal too. It was part of the reason why I moved to Nashville, to be near him, to continue to heal and protect one another; to create more memories with my best friend...

I’m really going to miss you, Charlie Lynn, “The Poor Man’s Friend.” Give mom and memaw a hug for me, will you?

Roll Tide,

-John “Boy Blue” Charles Lynn Jester

“I’ll be back quicker than you can say…Jack Robinson.”

The last time I saw you was on a Thursday.

We were in that dreadful, old hospital room. The obnoxious sounds of your roommate’s television filled the air. A thin, plastic curtain separated us from someone else’s grandad. You held my hand tightly and asked, “You still there, John Boy Blue? Don’t leave me, please.” But I wasn’t going anywhere. I was trying to soothe you from any worries or fear that lay ahead, but tears fell from your eyes. When I kissed your forehead, I caught them with my finger upon your cheek—I like to think I still have them with me. Absorbing a part of you.

You were tired, torn between staying and going. You’d waited long enough to reunite with your wife, your son, and my mom. Selfishly, I wanted you to stay. I asked them for just one more week, one more holiday, one more year…but it wasn’t to be.

You passed away a week later on a Friday.

**********

As many of you know, I shared a rare bond with my grandfather, Charlie, who we lost last week. To me he was more than a grandfather—he was a father, a best friend, a healer and often my partner in tomfoolery :)

He was a storyteller; someone who brought people together with his levity and warmth. He was an innate creator of fellowship and a role model to many. He taught me how to fish, play golf, shoot a gun (Heck, I could list off about 50)—all the things of course a Southern boy should know. But more importantly, he taught me about faith and family.

In many ways, he was the closest connection I had to my mother. When I was with him, I felt her presence all around. Through his smile, through his gestures—it was hard not to see or to feel. As much as he helped me heal after she passed, I believe I helped him heal too. It was part of the reason why I moved to Nashville, to be near him, to continue to heal and protect one another; to create more memories with my best friend...

I’m really going to miss you, Charlie Lynn, “The Poor Man’s Friend.” Give mom and memaw a hug for me, will you?

Roll Tide,

-John “Boy Blue” Charles Lynn Jester

“I’ll be back quicker than you can say…Jack Robinson.”

The last time I saw you was on a Thursday.

We were in that dreadful, old hospital room. The obnoxious sounds of your roommate’s television filled the air. A thin, plastic curtain separated us from someone else’s grandad. You held my hand tightly and asked, “You still there, John Boy Blue? Don’t leave me, please.” But I wasn’t going anywhere. I was trying to soothe you from any worries or fear that lay ahead, but tears fell from your eyes. When I kissed your forehead, I caught them with my finger upon your cheek—I like to think I still have them with me. Absorbing a part of you.

You were tired, torn between staying and going. You’d waited long enough to reunite with your wife, your son, and my mom. Selfishly, I wanted you to stay. I asked them for just one more week, one more holiday, one more year…but it wasn’t to be.

You passed away a week later on a Friday.

**********

As many of you know, I shared a rare bond with my grandfather, Charlie, who we lost last week. To me he was more than a grandfather—he was a father, a best friend, a healer and often my partner in tomfoolery :)

He was a storyteller; someone who brought people together with his levity and warmth. He was an innate creator of fellowship and a role model to many. He taught me how to fish, play golf, shoot a gun (Heck, I could list off about 50)—all the things of course a Southern boy should know. But more importantly, he taught me about faith and family.

In many ways, he was the closest connection I had to my mother. When I was with him, I felt her presence all around. Through his smile, through his gestures—it was hard not to see or to feel. As much as he helped me heal after she passed, I believe I helped him heal too. It was part of the reason why I moved to Nashville, to be near him, to continue to heal and protect one another; to create more memories with my best friend...

I’m really going to miss you, Charlie Lynn, “The Poor Man’s Friend.” Give mom and memaw a hug for me, will you?

Roll Tide,

-John “Boy Blue” Charles Lynn Jester

“I’ll be back quicker than you can say…Jack Robinson.”

“…I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.” -rf

Granted not much is less traveled today, but thought this snap shot by @jbobephoto down in Mexico was apropos of my current crusade. #gringoforever

Next stop(s): 🇰🇷🇯🇵🇺🇸

Thank you everyone for all the birthday wishes yesterday :)

As Jack Benny used to say, “I’ll never be a day over 39 for the rest of my life!”

I threw a little recap together of the last three days. Roadtrippin’ from Mt. Baldy to Mountain High, and from Long Beach to San Juan Capistrano… @_serenagabrielle_ and @jbobephoto y’all sure do know how to throw this southern boy a birthday. I’m blessed to have some pretty special women in my life. Ride or dies.

Y’all made my year :) 🙏

#68

Happiest of Birthdays in Heaven, Mom

Love you to the moon 💫

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Every time I see a butterfly, Mom.
Today, August 22, was the last time I got to hear your voice. These two poems jumped into my head after seeing a butterfly fight the Alabama rain, and I just had to write them down.
I love you to the moon and back, moesh….💫
***
Fragile and Fraught but still not caught,
Like a butterfly she was, tiny an’ untaut.
She loved like the wind, a zephyr more like.
Her touch was magic and crisp as sunlight.

Fierce as a bee but true to her word,
Her conviction will last, oh my dear lord!
I’m destined to be as though she sought,
For I’ll always remember how she fought, fought, fought…
***

Cool as a cucumber with the birthday boy, @_poor_mans_friend_ #ThisIs96

3) La Parroquia on 1/8/20

I came to this town on a whim shortly after my mom passed away to mourn, to escape, and to reconnect with a beautiful soul who was, at one time, one of my mom’s closest friends. Mi madre mexicana, as I now like to call her, phoned me one late, LA afternoon and simply said, “John, would you like to come to Mexico? You have a place here in this magical town, if you ever want to visit.” And that was all I needed to hear. A phone call from someone who I hadn’t talked to in years, extending an invitation of love so thoughtful that after I hung up, I cried from the sheer generosity. And now as I look back, I feel as though my time there was a dream. My first week there I was constantly battling depression and anger all the while fully immersed inside such beauty, history and love. It was quite the contrast. But I went to this church everyday to say a prayer. Every day I’d wake up and walk to this church and just sit. So...un mil gracias a @sanmigueldeallende , a Beverly (mi madre mexicana) y a mi familia de San Miguel: @aleidamerkel @danny_merkel @susimerkel y a @dontacotequilasma Salud 🥃More to come...