Jason. My first friend.

Me and my dad on the left, Jason, smiling, and his dad on the right. Circa look at those late 70s dos!

My cousin Jason was born on October 21, 1977. He was the first baby born among my mom’s sisters. The first son, the first nephew. He is the one who gave my grandma the name I knew her by. (Before she was Grandma, she was called Mom or JoAnne.) 

My uncle Harry has always been quite the photographer and he and my dad each had reel-to-reel video cameras in the ‘70s. The kind that you have to speak into an attached mic for your voice to be recorded. One of the first videos recorded of ‘us kids’ was baby Jason, having been given a microphone that looked enormous in his bonbon-sized fist, cheerfully whacking himself in the head with said recording device as he waved it happily to and fro. 

Six months later, in March of ‘78, I came along. And for two years and two weeks more, we were The Babies together. For six months out of the year, we’ve always been the same age. Of course, he sprints ahead of me again every fall.

My Aunt Shari, introducing Jason (walker) to me (whom she’s holding, obviously having the vapors. Both of us sticking our tongues out in a moment of cousinly solidarity.)

One of my earliest memories takes place in my childhood backyard. My aunt and uncle had come over to hang out with my parents, and Jason was playing with our football. I didn’t know anything about football, I was a baby. Jason was a whole half year older, he knew about football. (In all actuality, Jason was born knowing about football.) All I knew was that I wanted to play a game with the football and Jason and I told him so.

“Okay,” he said. “there’s tackling.” 

I confirmed that this was not a problem. He handed me the ball and I wrapped my little salami arms around it.

“Okay, run as fast as you can to that fence over there.” he pointed to the far end of the yard.

This was something I could do, I began to chug along, hugging the ball to my abdomen, in a determined, toddling sprint toward my objective. I have a perfect video tape of this memory stored in the annals of my brain. The grass is only a foot below my eyeline as I pelt toward the fence, which looms tall and distant on the horizon. My chubby legs churning like fierce, marshmallow pistons. I think Jason gave me a head start because I got at least ten steps before he tackled me and I burst into tears. 

The Original Cousins. Pre Termite. (See that bucket in the background there? Between Michelle and Jeremy’s feet? It’s on a pulley. Cool, right? We once told Jeremy to get in the bucket and we would lower him down like an elevator. We meant it honestly. But … we weren’t strong enough, the rope burnt our hands and we all let go and Jeremy smashed to the ground in a hail of tears. Sorry, Jerm.)

I’d like to think that if I had understood the definition of ‘tackle’ I might not have been such a bad sport.

But I never remember arguing with Jason. I never remember him refusing to share a toy with me. When my sister Michelle came along two years later, and then Jason’s little brother Jeremy a year after that, the four of us played together well. Jason was always the biggest. It surprised none of us that he went on to play football all through school. He never had any problem playing the ‘monster’ or chasing us around, playing a needed part in whatever heroic chase game we made up. He would smush us with couch cushions or wrestle all three of us at once, sometimes even tickling Jeremy until he couldn’t breathe. It was fun, challenging and scary. We loved it.

I remember once he had Jeremy smushed into the cushions, pinning him down. “One more move and he dies.” He said to Michelle and me. Jeremy began screaming into the pillows. We backed off, just like in the movies.

“Okay, we’re backing away, let him go.”

I can’t remember clearly what happened after that, but I think Jason tossed Jeremy away and sprinted to the other side of the couch where we all chased him. 

Later, when we were dissecting our epic battle, Jeremy would look at Michelle and I, very earnestly, and say, “And when he said, ‘one more move and then he dies,’ I really thought I was going to die.”

It was so much fun.

Jessica came along four years after Jeremy. We decided that she was a pest. (Sorry, Jess.) Jason called her The Termite and unfortunately for her, it stuck.

I mean, she’s alright once you get to know her.

I remember when he came up with the name. It was very scientific. He was probably about eight years old and I was maybe seven. We were sitting on the top bunk of his and Jeremy’s bunk beds with his Ants in Your Pants game. (I’m not kidding, it’s a real game that kids used to play.) He was using the pants to represent us, for whatever reason, and he was using one of the ants to represent Jessica. But calling her a termite instead of an ant. He said we couldn’t let the termite invade us. So whenever poor Jessica would toddle into the room we would SCREAM, “Aaaaahhhhh! The Termite!!” And run to another room. We explained our self-preservation technique to Jeremy and Michelle and they joined in. Of course poor Jessica followed us from room to room. Jason and I ended up on top of his bunk bed squashed into the farthest corner screaming about the termite while Jessica trundled happily into the room, cheerfully correcting us, “I’m not Termite, Jason, I’m Jessica!” Eventually, she persisted and we integrated her into the group. Although we still call her Termite very occasionally.

This is one of my favorite pictures ever. I think my mom took it. I have had it framed for so long I can’t remember.

Things changed a little bit when Jason got older, as is expected, I suppose. I’m not sure when exactly, I am sure it was gradual. I do have one memory of being excited that the Riches were coming to visit. Jason was coming! I waited all day with barely controlled anticipation. I remember tearing into the foyer when they finally arrived and Jason just stood there next to his parents, with a shy half smile on his face. And I stopped, sensing the change in energy. I think we were preteens. I know that we eventually did play, I don’t remember anything else specific about that day, but I do remember that there was a permutation of spirit and, from my perspective, this was when Jason began to get more quiet.

He didn’t play with us as often as before, but he still liked us. And he would join us occasionally. When he did join our games, we were very excited. It was like a bonus power. I feel like some of our fondest memories are from the games that Jason randomly took part in.

In a way, I do understand why he drifted slightly. As the oldest and the biggest, he sometimes got in trouble for things that were not always solely his fault. Once we were all playing a game where Jason laid down on the floor and the rest of us ran around in a circle and jumped over him. (Look, this was obviously way before the internet came around to keep us constantly entertained, okay?) This was all going fine until Jessica decided to jump hard right onto Jason’s stomach. He yelled in pain and retaliated by smacking her on the back. She ran and showed her mom the red handprint and Jason got sent to his room.

Later, when we were adults, I talked to Jason about this memory and how I had always felt bad about that injustice. He kind of chuckled and said, “It’s okay, I got her back.”

He then told me, or should I say acted out, with full on gestures and voices, how the family was on a road trip and Jessica didn’t like wearing her seatbelt, so she took it off and Aunt Shari yelled at her. Spotting an opportunity, Jason waited an appropriate amount of time and quietly released Jessica’s seatbelt catch himself.

“Mooom, Jessica took off her seatbelt again.”

“Jessica Rich, you put that seatbelt back on, do not let me tell you again.”

Here in the retelling, Jason affected a whiney voice and pouty face. “I didn’t take it off…”

You’re probably guessing where the story goes. Jason released the belt again, told on Jessica again and she got the, “If I have to tell you again, we’re pulling this car over!”

Photo courtesy of Jessica.

So I had to ask, “Did she pull the car over?”

Jason just laughed with a wicked gleam in his eye. 

He was hilarious. I can’t even explain some of his best jokes in writing because he had a knack for throwing out the ‘you just had to be there’ kind of zings that made his audience literally breathless with laughter. They’re the kind of things that become family sayings that no one else understands but will always get a chuckle out of anyone who was there. 

Jason died suddenly and unexpectedly this week. On January 2nd. And we’re all breathless again, but it's awful.

Because of COVID, we can’t gather and say goodbye like we would like to. We can’t share these stories of his life with each other. We can’t tell the inside jokes that no one else would understand. 

In March I’ll be 43. The same age that Jason was. Only this time he won’t pass me in the fall. I’ll never get to hug him again or say ‘chapstick kissing potion incomplete pass’ in a goofy voice and hear him say it back or even just see him smile and shake his head. And it doesn’t feel right. I hadn’t seen him in years, but there was always going to be another time. 

On our last big, joint family vacation, where all of the cousins and aunts and uncles and grandma were together, we were sharing all of these types of stories one evening while playing board games. Later on, I remember hearing Jason from another room telling someone, “Meredith remembers everything!” And I was secretly pleased that I had impressed him.

The last time we ever saw each other.

But I do, Jason. I remember you when you were full of light and laughter. And I will keep remembering you. I’ll tell your son about your goofiness and I’ll tell your nieces and nephews how you made us laugh. Hopefully wherever you are, you are at peace and free of the things that weighed you down here. And I hope you’re smiling. Know that we all miss you and we hope to see you again someday.

In the meantime, give grandma a hug. I will not forget you. Promise.