<html><head><meta http-equiv="content-type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"></head><body dir="auto"><div><span></span></div><div><meta http-equiv="content-type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><div><span></span></div><div><meta http-equiv="content-type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><div><span></span></div><div><div>Courtesy of today's (January 13, 2015) Moscow-Pullman Daily News.</div><div><br></div><div>---------------------------------------</div><div> </div><div><h1 id="blox-asset-title" style="outline: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; font-weight: 400; -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; line-height: 34px; font-size: 30px; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="blox-headline entry-title" style="outline: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; color: rgb(204, 0, 0); line-height: 38px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Her View: Jon and John: Mothers, sons and death</span></h1><p style="text-align: start; outline: 0px; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; background-image: none; float: none !important;"><span style="font-weight: bold; text-align: right; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">By Marilyn Beckett</span></p><p style="outline: 0px; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; background-image: none; float: none !important;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">This Saturday afternoon I went to John's Alley in Moscow to set up for Jon Wight's benefit. Jon, a fine, robust 28-year-old musician who graced many a Moscow Main Street venue, was diagnosed two months ago with a rare, aggressive cancer. Jon came through our house with many of my son's entourage in the early years, all his "brothers" becoming like sons. Their images are painted in my mind, and on my son's bedroom wall.</span></p><p style="outline: 0px; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; background-image: none; float: none !important;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Matt is one of them. He organized the benefit and beat the street to create the best silent auction I'd ever seen. As I walked in the door to help, he approached me and told me Jon had just died.</span></p><div class="encrypted-content" style="outline: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; float: none !important;"><p style="outline: 0px; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; background-image: none; float: none !important;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I see old friend Hud who tells me someone just shot four people, shooter apprehended near Colfax. Three dead, he doesn't know who.</span></p></div><div class="encrypted-content" style="outline: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; float: none !important;"><p style="outline: 0px; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; background-image: none; float: none !important;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Having lived all his life here, a consummate joker of the '70s who knows everyone by name, he says, "Moscow just ain't the same, Marilyn."</span></p></div><div class="encrypted-content" style="outline: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; float: none !important;"><p style="outline: 0px; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; background-image: none; float: none !important;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Many of Jon's "people" arrive. Many long hugs exchanged, so much love shared. Area businesses and artists have given generously to his cause. Then the live music - Jon's talented friends getting the packed house swaying and jumping, hearts blessing themselves with the light of the dearly departed Jon. A hundred or more bar patrons are brought to an entire minute of pin dropping silence. His brother sings his tears on stage. I hold his hand. His mother's son, and mine.</span></p><div class="encrypted-content" style="outline: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; float: none !important;"><p style="outline: 0px; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; background-image: none; float: none !important;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">His father, connected via digital screen, sings along with the entire room, "Que Sera, Sera."</span></p></div><div class="encrypted-content" style="outline: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; float: none !important;"><p style="outline: 0px; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; background-image: none; float: none !important;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">My friend Kate texts me that Terri is murdered by her son John, who goes on to shoot others. I remember Terri as the beautiful tall woman with the broad smile who loves to sing and dance. I picture her dying at the hand of her 29-year-old son. I think of my sons, and I dance for her.</span></p></div><div class="encrypted-content" style="outline: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; float: none !important;"><p style="outline: 0px; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; background-image: none; float: none !important;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I picture David and Michael on Jefferson Street as, it is said, John continued shooting. I know David, too. Michael graduated with my daughter Liz, his sister with my daughter Katie. I see in my mind's eye an angry young man driving through Arby's and waiting for the manager to fire. I see Belinda face death's surprise as if I were there. She's a friend of Terri's. I see them both wonder why.</span></p></div><div class="encrypted-content" style="outline: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; float: none !important;"><p style="outline: 0px; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; background-image: none; float: none !important;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Then Jon's frail arm - it fought back so hard over so many weeks of disease and medicinal poison inhaling the last breath of his life.</span></p></div><div class="encrypted-content" style="outline: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; float: none !important;"><p style="outline: 0px; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; background-image: none; float: none !important;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I contemplate who will remember Jon and who will remember John.</span></p></div><div class="encrypted-content" style="outline: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; float: none !important;"><p style="outline: 0px; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; background-image: none; float: none !important;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Jon had the will to live. He had music in his heart.</span></p></div><div class="encrypted-content" style="outline: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; float: none !important;"><p style="outline: 0px; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; background-image: none; float: none !important;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">John might have lost his will to live, surrendering to what seemed a ticking time bomb in his brain.</span></p></div><div class="encrypted-content" style="outline: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; float: none !important;"><p style="outline: 0px; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; background-image: none; float: none !important;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">One who wishes to live instills the hope of life in others.</span></p></div><div class="encrypted-content" style="outline: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; float: none !important;"><p style="outline: 0px; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; background-image: none; float: none !important;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">One who apparently wishes to control the lives of others seems to have lost that hope.</span></p></div><div class="encrypted-content" style="outline: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; float: none !important;"><p style="outline: 0px; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; background-image: none; float: none !important;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Which are you, young man? Which son are you?</span></p></div><div class="encrypted-content" style="outline: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; float: none !important;"><p style="outline: 0px; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; background-image: none; float: none !important;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">A good mother knows you both. She gave your life to do with it the best you could. To understand that it is never to be taken for granted or treated with disrespect. To know balance. To know yourself and by so doing, show regard for others. To find the music in life.</span></p></div><div class="encrypted-content" style="outline: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; float: none !important;"><p style="outline: 0px; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; background-image: none; float: none !important;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Women create. They give. They grow. They nurture. They sacrifice.</span></p></div><div class="encrypted-content" style="outline: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; float: none !important;"><p style="outline: 0px; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; background-image: none; float: none !important;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Every warring country on the globe strives to control women because of their power to create. We know the victims. We know the price.</span></p></div><div class="encrypted-content" style="outline: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; float: none !important;"><p style="outline: 0px; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; background-image: none; float: none !important;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Bring us the music we sang to you as babes. Bring the music of life.</span></p></div><div class="encrypted-content" style="outline: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; float: none !important;"><p style="outline: 0px; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; background-image: none; float: none !important;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">When you read this, do you think it too dramatic? See the dramas of these deaths. See your own.</span></p></div><div class="encrypted-content" style="outline: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; float: none !important;"><p style="outline: 0px; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; background-image: none; float: none !important;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We gave back our son Jon today. We loved him.</span></p></div><div class="encrypted-content" style="outline: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; float: none !important;"><p style="outline: 0px; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; background-image: none; float: none !important;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Please pay homage to we mothers, all you fathers and sons, boyfriends and brothers.</span></p></div><div class="encrypted-content" style="outline: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; float: none !important;"><p style="outline: 0px; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; background-image: none; float: none !important;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">This mother knows and loves you all.</span></p></div></div></div><div><br></div><div>---------------------------------------<br><br><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Seeya 'round town, Moscow, because . . .</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"Moscow Cares"</span></div><div><a href="http://www.moscowcares.com/" style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><font color="#000000">http://www.MoscowCares.com</font></a></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></div><div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Tom Hansen</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Moscow, Idaho</span></div></div><div> </div></div></div></div></div></body></html>