Words from Daniel Harding: Words cannot express how much I miss my brother. He was a confused and confusing man who spent his life trying to figure out who he was.
He was a little eccentric. He was often dismissive and condescending when he was trying to push people away from himself as a of a defense mechanism.
He was extremely intelligent and intellectual, but lacked direction.
He possessed incredible self control but couldn’t apply it in the areas of life that matter.
John was conceived under less-than-ideal circumstances. Following infidelities by both parents and a brief separation, my father realized just how much he loved my mother and sister and wanted to be with them no matter what. He was aware of my mom’s condition and yet still chose to stay with her, an unconventional and unpopular decision among those who had no say in the matter. They were counseled to have an abortion since the child was not my father’s, but neither was willing to end this innocent baby’s life. He was the son of a man who loved him as if he were his own flesh and blood.
I loved my brother as any sibling who grew up in the same house would, a love/ hate relationship when we were kids but then matured into something profound starting from when I beat him up for taking the remote control out of my hands and changing the channel one day when I was about 13 years old.
When we were little, we lied about John being my full brother by blood. I did so because it was none of anyone else's business, and I didn't think of him as less than a full brother. But having to lie about oneself, who one really is as a person, how one came to exist on this planet takes a toll on the psyche. The feeling of always being wrong, no matter what you did, how smart you were, talented at sports, funny, achieving eagle scout, graduating from prestigious University, etc. Gnawed at his soul.
If I were to have to sum up my brother in one word it would be: "searching". John looked ever where for answers at first in alcohol and drug use, then acting/modeling, then he wanted to be a navy seal, then a lawyer, a yoga instructor, he started an online apparel shop. There were so many things he could have done; he chose to do none of them. Instead, he drove for Uber until all hours of the night.
Spiritually he turned away from the cultural Catholicism we were raised in and sought the teachings of Buddha, Islam, the church of scientology, Judaism, and the free masons. I prayed and studied the Old Testament for years so that God would equip me with the knowledge to talk through the extremely complex relationship of Old Testament prophecy of the Messiah and how Jesus Christ was the fulfillment of all of them. Fortunately, one of the last conversations we had before he got on a plane and flew back to California, to never be heard from again was that he believed Jesus Christ was the Messiah. That is why, when we were looking for him for weeks, not knowing, I was calm about it and knew that at some point I'll get to see my brother again in the throne room of God.
After our father was murdered in February of 2018 the three of us siblings were shaken to the core, left with more questions than the police had answers to, it forced us to band together and clear my father's name of the stain of suicide that had befallen him. My brother was instrumental in that process because he did not simply accept inconsistencies in the story he was told and chalk it up to simply being in shock. He was our bull in a China shop, our maverick, our wild card. Often violating social and cultural norms to get to the truth. In the end we were vindicated when a 12-panel jury unanimously decided my father did not kill himself, but that his then wife was responsible for his death. I mention this because it was his, mine, our single greatest task in life. The hardest thing we have ever, and probably will ever, have to do. Solving our own father’s murder.
A father who, though not by blood to my brother, still kissed every booboo, held his hand while crossing the street, taught him how to ride a bike, worked 100 hours a week to send him to private school, took him to boy scouts on Tuesday nights and celebrated every increase in rank by going to Jack in the box for dinner. Taught him how to play tennis and would reward us with a slurpee if we could catch a tennis ball my dad hit as high in the air as he could.
A father who lied about John being his son because he loved him so much.
A father who was given the choice of aborting this baby conceived out of wedlock but chose to not just grant this innocent baby life but chose to be there for this child every day of his life.
One cannot tell the story of either of these two men without telling of this defining moment.
John is back in the warm embrace of his Father in heaven and the man who he called father here on earth.
When my brother last visited for his birthday and thanksgiving he seemed as though he had gotten close to the answers, he had been seeking for the last decade plus. He was in the process of making amends with family members he had hurt. He was surprised at how quickly they forgave him and told me he had been talking to his therapist for hours upon hours of how to apologize and what to say in response to what others would say back to him. He realized that no one would love him as purely as family and that being close to family was very important to him. He had made the decision to move back to Texas and had already applied, and been accepted to, various law schools. He took every opportunity to play with my kids or go for a walk with them to the gas station and buy them an apple juice that had a character on top that they liked.
I believe that he found the answer to most of the questions he had about life before he died, that answer, put simply, was family.
To conclude: John was obsessed with truth, no matter what, at all cost and though I really do not wish to, I must honor him in this way. The truth is that my brother self-diagnosed and self-medicated with pharmaceutical and recreational drugs. He believed he was healing himself of an unknown illness that he alone possessed the capability to cure. I believe while under the influence he was unaware of whether he was awake or dreaming and ended up falling from the top of his apartment building. A tragic and cautionary tale, and in the end a major part of his legacy.
I love and appreciate you all and hope this has brought a certain amount of closure and understanding to an otherwise bewildering moment in time.
Thank you for all your love and support for my family,
God bless
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