The Love of Her Life

I attended the memorial for my friend's husband, Jim, this week. A clear picture emerged of a man who worked hard, was loving and fiercely loyal to his family, enjoyed the good things in life (good food, beer, music, art), was incredibly well respected as a smart, stubborn, ethical attorney who did what was best for his clients even if it wasn't what was best for him, was a good friend to many, supported other people emotionally his whole life, was not interested in self-promotion or taking credit, and was a patient, caring father.

Sounds like a saint, right? But what I loved about this memorial was that many people who spoke also talked about the things Jim did that drove them crazy because they're what made him him. He played practical jokes and let people ruminate on it for days until he admitted it was a joke. He could be fastidious to the point of obsession. He worked too much and too hard. He separated his personal and professional lives into little compartments. He was a saint with flaws. He was real.

At the end, the family asked the audience to share memories. A young woman came up to the microphone and said that she'd been Jim's massage therapist for 11 years. She knew all about his family but had never met them. She said that she had lost a son and that she and Jim had connected over the heartbreak of losing a child. "I don't know if you know this," she said as she looked at Jim's grown children sitting in the front row, "but he gave me money to adopt a son after I lost my own." Afterward, she hugged each of them in turn like they were her long-lost siblings.

It's easy to see why my friend calls him the love of her life. She and Jim shared many values and qualities and were different enough that they could continuously learn from one another. He will be missed by the hundreds of people he touched with his humor, love, intelligence, and support.