My Best and Oldest friend has died. He brought me in to the (not) Truth

by Terry 5 Replies latest jw experiences

  • Terry
    Terry

    In my book, I Wept by the Rivers of Babylon, I described the process of having a friend, Johnny Santa Cruz, use our friendship as a platform for converting me to a Jehovah's Witness.

    That friendship cost me decades of my life in bondage to a cult.

    The friendship was real and Johnny and I bonded for life. But, the religion eventually turned him into a stone silence. Now he is dead and the imaginary reunion and meeting of the minds is no longer a possibility.

    This makes his passing a double tragedy.

    His memories were my memories. By dying he has extinguished part of my life's verifications. The bond we could have shared into our retirement years could have strengthened. Instead, they dissolved--aborted by cult pressure.

    I doubt I can get a family invitation to his funeral. It would certainly be disrespectful to attend without it. So, even in a final good-bye--I am shut out of both life and death.
    ++++++++++++++++++

    Johnny married when he was 20 and his wife was 16. He was rescuing her from her father. The dad was molesting his 2 daughters, you see, but the Brothers at the Kingdom Hall had advised the JW mother that Divorce was not the answer.

    I was at the wedding at the Justice of the Peace in a small Texas town. Johnny's sister, Judy, pretended to be the Mother granting permission.

    The marriage has lasted all these years, 1967 to 2016. He was very proud of that. His wife never graduated from High School, she dropped out. She never worked a paying job in her entire life. All her friends were JW's. It was the only life she ever knew and the only one imaginable.

    ________

    Johnny and I were friends from the age of 12. All of our early memories were the SAME memory.

    We called each other "Best best Buddy, lifelong pal." But that "lifelong" part was a dream.

    Johnny would always prod me with JW-related statements, provoking discussion about (presumably) the Bible.

    In my family, we were not religious people nor did we attend a church. I had respect--even reverence--but no emotional attachments to God or the good book. I was sort of a Nerdy intellectual kind of kid. So, we had lots of arguments--and I couldn't win those arguments even though I was using rational thinking and logic. Why?

    I didn't realize at that time, we were living in two different worlds entirely! A fancy word covers the situation: "Non-overlapping magisteria."
    The real world and the world of religious beliefs are different areas of inquiry, fact vs. values, so there is a difference between the "nets" over which they have "a legitimate magisterium or domain of teaching authority," and the two domains do not overlap.

    So, here it is folks--my life was about to take a sharp left turn simply because I needed to be on EQUAL footing with Johnny and the only way I could think of to do that was to LEARN his magisterium and master it.

    I would compare this to having a friend who is hooked on addictive drugs saying, "Just try it and see if you like it."

    One snort, one injection, one high was all it took and the next 2o years would be a roller coaster ride through hell.

    _______________

    Johnny is dead. He won't be joining his devout parents in Paradise in all likelihood. You see, he knew how so much of Jehovah's Witness teachings had unraveled not standing the test of time. He was very angry when the Awake! magazine dropped the "generations" blurb which had been his bellwether to Armageddon.
    He saw his belief system dismantled and reassembled like a Legos project.

    He was highly intelligent. But he was a profoundly loyal advocated, too.
    The arguments he and I shared never budged him off center--but they certainly rattled him to the core.

    Today I want to salute his long marriage and his unshakeable Faith.

    In the same breath I want to shout to the world, "You were and always will be my friend--you stupid fool!"


    Johnny Santa Cruz--1947 to 2016 Rest in Peace my best, best Buddy. I wish you had remained a lifelong pal.


  • stephanie61092
    stephanie61092

    I'm so very sorry for your loss and the potential missed opportunities.

  • LongHairGal
    LongHairGal

    TERRY:

    I am sorry for your loss. But not only the loss of an old dear friend, but the loss of the opportunity of the reunion that you rehearsed in your head a hundred times!

    The Jehovah's Witness religion is a tragedy on so many levels!

  • compound complex
    compound complex

    Dear Terry:

    Once again, I send you my heartfelt condolences as I remember a book that has given a sense of purpose to my life: Necessary Losses: The Loves, Illusions, Impossible Expectations That All of Us Have to Give Up in Order to Grow, by Judith Viorst.

    My life has been one of impossible expectations, based on my former beliefs, my longing for true love, my illusory world of SF fantasy. It's all mixed up together in my heart and mind.

    Ms. Viorst's soothing but reality-grounded words have helped me to see that I demanded -- albeit passively -- of others what they were incapable of giving. I, too, have had to admit to my own inability to be the all and everything I wished from others. We are friends only in spots, the author avers.

    What you have written so resonates with me as I continue in my own life's journey, scarred but resolute.

    Be well, mon ami.

    CoCo

    http://www.jehovahs-witness.com/topic/163499/necessary-losses

  • Skedaddle
    Skedaddle

    What a beautiful thing to do to write a book about the two of you.

    RIP Johnny Santa Cruz.

    My condolences to you Terry.

  • Terry
    Terry

    Thank you, my kind hearted friends!

    Your words find their mark and I feel better for having read them.

    I was just thinking last night how much life is like a Ray Bradbury story I read as a teenager.

    It is about a couple on vacation in Europe. The husband George Smith, is crazy about the paintings of Pablo Picasso.
    One evening, the man spots his hero at the edge of the sea.
    _________________

    I'll let Bradbury set it up for you:

    "He began to draw incredible figures along the sand.

    He sketched one figure and then moved over and, still looking down, completely focused on his work now, drew a second and a third figure, and after that a fourth and a fifth and a sixth.

    George Smith, printing the shoreline with his feet, gazed here, gazed there, and then saw the man ahead. George Smith, drawing nearer, saw that the man, deeply tanned, was bending down. Nearer yet, and it was obvious what the man was up to, George Smith chuckled. Of course . . . Alone on the beach this man how old? Sixty-five? Seventy? -- was scribbling and doodling away. How the sand flew! How the wild portraits flung themselves out there on the shore! How ...

    George Smith took one more step and stopped, very still.

    The stranger was drawing and drawing and did not seem to sense that anyone stood immediately behind him and the world of his drawings in the sand. By now he was so deeply enchanted with his solitudinous creation that depth bombs set off in the bay might not have stopped his flying hand nor turned him round..."

    ___________________________

    The end of the story (If you haven't read it--don't let me spoil it)

    is what reminds me of Johnny and our lifelong friendship. The impermanence of a masterpiece such as it was.

    Bradbury ends it with these words:

    "The artist had drawn nearer and now was gazing into George Smith's face with great friendliness as if he were guessing every thought. Now he was nodding his head in a little bow. Now the ice-cream stick had fallen casually from his fingers. Now he was saying good night, good night. Now he was gone, walking back down the beach towards the south. George Smith stood looking after him. After a full minute, he did the only thing he could possibly do. He started at the beginning of the fantastic frieze of satyrs and fauns and wine-dipped maidens and prancing unicorns and piping youths and he walked slowly along the shore. He walked a long way, looking down at the free-running bacchanal. And when he came to the end of the animals and men he turned round and started back in the other direction, just staring down as if he had lost something and did not quite know where to find it. He kept on doing this until there was no more light in the sky, or on the sand, to see by.

    He sat down at the supper table.

    You're late, said his wife. I just had to come down alone. I'm ravenous.

    That's all right, he said.

    Anything interesting happen on your walk? she asked.

    No, he said.

    You look funny; George, you didn't swim out too far, did you, and almost drown? I can tell by your face. You did swim out too far, didn't you?

    Yes, he said.

    Well, she said, watching him closely. Don't ever do that again. Now — what'll you have?


    He picked up the menu and started to read it and stopped suddenly.


    What's wrong? asked his wife. He turned his head and shut his eyes for a moment.

    Listen.

    She listened.

    I don't hear anything, she said.


    Don't you?

    No. What is it?


    Just the tide, he said, after a while, sitting there, his eyes still shut.

    Just the tide, coming in.


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