A few weeks ago, I had the honor of spending the last few hours my brother in law Jim had on this plane with him. It was painful of course, but also carried with it a certain grace, that has helped me process it easier and with a shade of warmth that shows itself as unexpected and welcome.
I will miss him dearly, as in the time I spent getting to know him, he brought true oddball laughter into my life, and made family love and acceptance easy.
You didn't shake hands with Jim, you hugged. House Rules, man.
He had the ability, perhaps one could call it a gift, to make you feel like you were the only person in the room when he spoke to you. I haven't encountered that from anyone else on the planet where it didn't feel like there was a motive behind it. Like it was bullshit. With Jim it was genuine, because he remembered what you were saying, and would ask about it later. He did that with children, with teenagers, with complete strangers. Incredible.
He like to mark moments, too. He picked things, and made them grand when you least expected it. A shared love of bologna sandwiches brought us to Meteor Burger in Richardson. You'd think he was eating the greatest thing ever created by any deity anywhere. So after a couple hours of Brother Talk and chasing bologna with RC Cola, he found the owner of the place and made sure we all had our picture taken together and posted it on social media.
I guess this kind of thing was regular with Jim. It amazed me.
A lot of people love music. I adore music. I'm one of those emphatic nerds that has vinyl records, and watches documentaries about bands. Jim carried music with him. Not necessarily physically, like with an iPod, though. He was always singing, always humming, lyrics became emphatic exclamation points in conversation. A killer sense of rhythm, a fine voice, and a tonal curiosity made Jim what music was really all about. He was figuring out guitar in recent months, and played electronic drums on iPhone apps, made surrounding objects into bongos.
Jim was who music was for.
He found it funny that I programmed his personal ring-tone on my cellphone to be the BeeGees "You Should Be Dancin'" I won't say there wasn't comedic value involved, but somehow it just seemed right. His tastes varied from Pearl Jam to Bruno Mars, and all locations in between. Whether it was some classic rock 70's group like Journey to something just released by a modern pop monstrosity he recently heard on the radio, Jim would enjoy almost all of it, and deeply. He was a master critic of cover bands. He enjoyed all forms of live music with great relish and had a set list in his head of the ultimate concert.
He was a football nut too. College and Pro, died-in-the-wool cowboy fan. Being a Packer fan myself, this led to some interesting sparks and discussions and text message tomfoolery. Nothing more funny than team loyalists dogging on each other when those two teams clash. Where I'm living now, Packer games aren't carried live, so I have to go to the local official Packer sports bar, Hub Streat, to watch them. Jim went with me, to provide company I'd otherwise not have and even rooted for my beloved Pack with me over sliders and Cokes. He texted me Go Cowboys, Go Pack! on Sundays.
I'm going to miss the shit out of that.
I'm going to miss the effect on discussions the family had. The chats. How he would chirp "Thank YOU" when you agreed with him on a salient point, or "ex-ACT-ly" when he finally got you to understand, and how in some roundabout way he had just made you feel better about something you were confiding in him.
Jim carried presence. It will be hard not having it around anymore, but perhaps remembering and celebrating it, maybe even emulating it, will make moving forward easier.
I feel like I have to, because I know if I didn't, he would kick my ass. Or at least he would have given me some serious shit about it.
