More on Jim -

[kyburg]

We're getting through August, and you know what comes after that, don't you?

September. No, really.

And September 18th, just a date picked out of a hat. That's the day Cliff died.

But we're talking about Jim. Yeah, I know. But I look at Jim and see Cliff's hand in it.

Yeah, yeah, I see the look on your face allll the way over here. Stop it.

No, they never met. And when I first met Jim, that was the hardest thing to get my head around. They'd never known each other, but they both knew me better than anyone else in the world...but they'd never known each other.

That's not supposed to happen. Well, it does and I'm weirded out over it -

But let's look at Jim for a moment. silverkun knew Cliff - knew him well, as he was on that short list of people I could call at a moment's notice as an extra pair of hands, who did overnight duty at Cedars-Sinai, and many other things while Cliff slowly faded in his last days. (Which took three years to accomplish. It was a very long time, when you measure times in minutes and hours.)

Jim is this big (6'4"), bluff Germanic fellow with the most incredible aquamarine blue eyes I've ever seen. They are so brightly colored, and so blue, they are the first color you see in dim light when everything is grayed out. He sings, dances and loves the same kinds of music I do, remembers every joke anyone ever told him and can deliver them on request, does a whole repertoire of voices, reads almost as fast I do, and as avidly; will go to Barry Manilow concerts willingly, loves Star Trek more than I do (and that's saying something) and plays more games than I would ever allow myself to be interested in, and it's been a nice change.

How the heck did I meet this guy?

This is what he looked like: jtbell2@hotmail.com. That's all I knew about him. I was sitting at home one afternoon, feeling a bit sorry for myself for the first time since Cliff had passed and wondering what was going to come of me, living alone like I was. It had been almost a year since he had died, things had settled into a pretty stable routine, and I had finally caught up on my sleep and "me" time.

First time I really had come to terms with 'this is it, I'm likely to die this way and it would take days before anyone would notice I was gone. And what is it with all this stuff and this house with three bathrooms, anyway? Sheesh. One person. SHEESH.'

I shook it off, and went web surfing.

Could have been female. Could have been 19 years old. Or younger.

But the guy who I sent an email to over his website turned out to be Jim.

Cliff and I were complementaries. Nobody could beat us as a team at Trivia Pursuit because where one was soft on the subject, the other one was a master at it. We were in a study in contrasts, and the relationship was a difficult one because of it.

Jim? Complementary to a fault. As if he had been picked out for me.

And there are days I still shake my head over it. I told you about the flowers I ordered for Cliff's funeral, didn't I? The ones that never got delivered? The florist was so aghast, they sent me a food basket to compensate me and so forth.

On top? Cliff's favorite lemon cookies.

Cliff hated flowers. The little shit didn't want them. But he did send me a message.

I have a little Talent - not much of one, but I do get reminded I do have a little of it. I was always aware of my father, who died a month shy of my seventh birthday. VERY aware of him, until I was in my thirties and found out he had died by his own hand, accidentally.

Cliff, I was only aware of for a day or so after he passed. It was like the coldest champagne you could imagine, effervescent and VERY fast-moving. Only for a day or so - and when I visit his grave at the cemetery, I can get an impression of him. But I do know where's he's been, when he does check in. Shit happens.

I've had unbelievably good fortune since he passed - scary good, you really want to know. As long as I've been willing to work hard, I've gotten the rewards for it. You really can't say that's the case for everyone.

And I look at Jim, marvel yet again at the incredibly good luck that brought him to me - and I do my best to enjoy every bit of him.

Such a gift I was given. And I know someone else is pleased, too.

Comments

[pseudicide.livejournal.com]

It's amazing how things do work out sometimes, isn't it???

[brandelyn.livejournal.com]

[evilshell.livejournal.com]

I understand completely where you're coming from. And now I think I may understand why I don't feel my mom as much as I used to. I kinda lost her a bit when I met Josef and moved to Switzerland. I'm also convinced that my meeting him and moving here was all her doing (as was me waking up and getting my divorce from my first husband).

You have been given an amazing gift, in so many ways.

[elfwench.livejournal.com]

{{tight hugs}} This post made me sappy in a happy way. Thank you for sharing.

[lysana.livejournal.com]

That is a remarkable post.

I'm curious about one detail. How did finding out the method of your father's death change your awareness of him?

[kyburg.livejournal.com]

He had been abusing a large number of pharmaceuticals before he died - the quaaludes, barbiturates and the like of the day (he died in 1967). He had also become unpredictable, violent and abusive, following the collapse of his business and filing bankruptcy.

I found out all this stuff later, of course. At age 6, I was scared to death of him and wanted him to dissapear. When he did, it was HUGE. I took responsibility for his death in some very strange ways and it was a lifelong problem (these days, they'd likely treat me for PTSD).

When I found out it wasn't me - had never been me, it was incredible.

My sense of him had been in hysterics - incredibly sorry. I never understood why. When I found out what really happened, it likely freed him as well I.

[anahata56.livejournal.com]

I'm smiling over here.

I know what this feels like.

And the gratitude is indescribable.

Thanks for this post--it's going in memories if you don't mind, because it says exactly what I've been trying to explain to people for two years.

[moropus.livejournal.com]

Wow. I think you know how lucky you are.