Adios

I have been trying to write this for a couple of days. I am going to try again and this time, do it with a bit more dignity and honor than the earlier versions. This is long, but the subject warrants it.

I received an email this week that contained the following:

Hello Thom,
This is Jim's sister-in-law Donna. I hope I have found you at the right email address. How I hate to share with you this way, but know that as hard as this news is, you would be the first to want to know. I am so very sorry to share with you that Jim passed away this weekend.

I have not written very much about Jim. My friend of longest standing, we became friends in 1974 – that’s 35 years if you are counting. With my lifelong lack of continuity, Jim has been a thread interwoven through the many, many changes over the years.

We were roommates when I was 19 and Jim was 18. Unlike what happens with some people, it cemented our friendship rather than push us apart. Somewhere, there is a photo of a plate of pancakes next to a can of beer that Jim took while we were rooming – it became a symbol of our friendship and mutually bizarre sense of humor.

I have so many stories … so I am selecting a few that mean a lot to me.

1974 - Jim collected MG’s. He had several early 60’s MGB’s and a 1959 MGA with a crank start, bullet holes in the hood, and a top that wouldn’t always go up (usually in rain and snow storms). Anyone who knows MG’s would appreciate that he collected them for spare parts to keep at least one car running at all times. One rainy night, we went to a bar and I got so drunk that I don’t remember the ride home (with the top down, in the rain). The next day, Jim asked me if I remembered any conversation from that night. I said I barely remember the night. He said “Good.” More on that later…

1980 - Jim was the best man at my wedding. He picked me up from my house and we were ready to leave when I said “Wait.” I went into the kitchen, opened a bottle of Jack Daniels and downed a goodly gulp. I was about to leave when I turned around and had another and then said, “OK, now I’m ready.” He just looked at me with that Cheshire Cat smile of his and didn’t say a word. In the church, the music started playing, and thank goodness all heads turned to look at the bride – because I started walking out from the back and headed in the wrong direction. Jim, in his usual calm but effective way, reached down from his 6’3” frame, grabbed me by the collar, and not only steered me in the right direction, he steadied me as I was getting a little wobbly on my feet. I don’t think I ever thanked him properly for that.

1983 – I was the best man at Jim’s wedding. That is us pictured above (I will let you figure out who is who). His wife wanted a traditional Jewish wedding, so here is the tall Scotsman and short Italian guy acting like we know what we are supposed to be doing. When I was handed the glass wrapped in a cloth, I started unwrapping it. I wanted to see glass fly when his huge foot crushed it. The Rabbi gently took my wrist and whispered, “Leave it wrapped.” I was mortified – Jim was shaking from barely contained hysterics.

1985 – Jim moved to California… the last place on earth I expected a guy who lived in Colorado and Alaska to wind up, but his wife wanted to move there. Apparently, his wife wanted more than that and so ended his marriage. I remember spending hours on the phone talking about it and the thousand other things that popped into our heads. I was upset by the news of his divorce, but he wound up calming me down. He calmed me down… that was classic Jim…

2003 - Jim was the first person I called when I finally came out – after telling my wife. I was concerned about how he would feel about it with our long history and knowing that we roomed together – he was only concerned that I was OK. He could care less that I was gay. We talked about it for a while, and then moved on to the thousand other things that we would talk about – and it became a calm, ordinary conversation. It was remarkable in how unremarkable it was.

2008 – Jim asked me if I still had my 12-string Ovation guitar that I bought in 1973. I said yes and wanted to know why he asked. He talked about the guitar he has owned for nearly as long (I taught him to play guitar when we were roommates) and said he was happy that we each still had something that was so precious to us for so long. I didn’t read much into it at the time…

Jim’s favorite expressions (from the age of 18) that have become a permanent part of my vocabulary:
Such is life (when I would whine about something)
Never plan more than four days in advance (when things did not go as planned – very wise advice)
So? (in response to any problem presented to him – it used to infuriate me, then made me laugh)
Thanks for the pepperoni (very long story, but George Harrison fans may get that one)
Adios (At the end of every letter, email or conversation – pronounced with a long A)

We haven’t talked in a few months, but that’s not unusual. We could go for a day or a year between conversations and we would just pick up where we left off – and usually talk for hours. It has been a couple of months since we last spoke and although unusual, he did not send a Christmas card this year, and a more recent email went unanswered.

Apparently, in late December, Jim was diagnosed with cancer so advanced, that it was past the point of any effective treatment. He chose to tell no one but family. Fortunately, Jim’s brother and sister-in-law were with him when he died on Sunday.

Life has many inescapable realities… it is going to happen in all of its best and worst forms no matter where you are or what you are doing, and it is going to happen harder and faster with time. And you have to carry on. You can accept that or be miserable. Such is life…

Jim was one of the kindest and wisest men I have ever known. His influence on my life is beyond measure and I believe that feeling was mutual. We shared such a rich history from our teens to our 50’s. No matter what time throws at me, that will never change nor can it ever be taken away.

Back to 1974… When Jim asked me if I remembered anything from that drunken night and he said “Good,” I asked why. He said “Do you remember telling me anything unusual?” I said “No… what did I say?” He just shook his head and said “No, let’s just leave it.” I pressed him, but he said “No, I am taking that one to the grave.” Over the years I asked him again, but I always received the same answer. Seems he was right about keeping that promise. I suspect I have a general idea what I said, and I believe that he respected me enough to leave it alone - and not let it be an impediment to our friendship.

Thanks for the pepperoni, my friend… Adios