CASA
JOHNSUN

This is Baba at Hooters, ninety-three years old, drinking the biggest beer Hooters pours — through a straw, because why wouldn't she — and then going home to have another.

Baba was Ukrainian, fearless, and funny to her core without ever once trying to be. She lost her husband early and buried two sons before their time, and she wore her wedding ring every single day of her life after — because she was still married to him, she'd say, and she always would be. That was the whole woman right there. Devoted. Dedicated to her word. Not willing to negotiate on it, ever.

She carried more grief than most people could stand and she still showed up every day with a smile, a joke that would make you spit out your drink, and a genuineness you almost never see in anybody anymore. She had a big, loud circle of friends, and one by one, over the years, she lost every one of them. And she told me she was ready. I hated hearing it. But I had to respect it — she had accepted that her time here was done, that she had served her purpose. She was right. I was just being selfish.

Baba was kind. Baba was real. Baba drank her beer through a straw and never cared for one second what anyone thought. She was my best friend, my role model, and the reason I do what I do — you'll meet her properly in Episode One.

She left me some of her ashes to plant at the base of her palm tree, so she'll live at Casa JohnSUN forever — right where she always wanted to be, in the Arizona sun. And right where I want her to be. Close to me every day, as a reminder of the woman I want to be.