I never called him Dad. I was already grown and living on my own when he and Mom married, not the first marriage for either of them. So Dad just didn’t sound right to me. Instead, I called him by his name, Jim.
Friends from the old neighborhood and the Fisher Body plant in St. Louis where he spent much of his working life called him Red. They did so even after his hair no longer matched his nickname. Red suited him. Like the color, he was big and bold and cheerful—and yes, sometimes a little loud.
Jim dreamed big. He always had projects, plans and ideas brewing, some of them a little goofy maybe, but some of them verging on visionary. And as he aged, they shifted from schemes to get rich quick to ways to save the planet, or at least a little corner of it. Few of these projects ever made it to completion, but dreaming them up and sharing them at the kitchen table—with my mom, with family or with any visitor who would sit still to listen to them—kept him younger than his years.
He was unfailingly generous too. Always ready to lend a hand, whether it involved hauling a refrigerator up three flights of stairs or coaxing an old beater car back to life. He was generous with his money, if you needed it, or a place to stay. As Marion said the other night, he was kind to people when he didn’t need to be.
Although I never called him Dad, he was certainly Grandpa to the kids. Visiting Grandma Dorothy and Grandpa Jim was always a treat for them. I don’t think I’ve ever met a man more delighted to be surrounded by kids and grandkids, even at their most rambunctious. He charmed them and they returned the favor, as you can see in the picture above of him with our daughter Claire when she was tiny.
Mom and Jim’s relationship wasn’t always one I saw as a model marriage. It relied a little too much on vintage sitcom stereotypes, with bickering often serving as normal conversation mode. They were both good at it—Mom gave as good as she got. But if you watched closely, you could see sparks of the love that held them together through good times and bad, for 27 years.
Never was it more evident than at the end of Mom’s life. She had battled cancer for years and was finally succumbing. On my last visit with her, she was confined to a rented hospital bed in their living room. I slept on the couch next to her bed just to spend as much time with her as possible. Jim set his alarm to go off in the middle of the night so he could give her pain medication. Every night, I would wake to the sounds of him talking to my mother, his wife, so tenderly as he cared for her. Never was there a moment of resentment or self pity or impatience in his voice. He was absolutely focused on giving what comfort he could.
Jim—Grandpa Jim, Red—passed away last week. After a brief illness, he died peacefully in his sleep, surrounded by his children from his first marriage. We traveled to Missouri to pay our respects and bid him farewell. Funerals are never happy occasions, but being there surrounded by so many people whose lives he had touched made me glad that my family and I were among them.
The kitchen is closed this week. We’ll be back next Wednesday with two new posts, including a recipe.
I’m very sorry. I’ll keep you and your family in my thoughts. Take care!
Thank you for sharing this beautiful tribute. Sending good thoughts to you and your family.
Beautiful, Terry. A truly beautiful tribute. How lucky for your children to have such a loving grandpa, and for your mom to have had someone who was there for her at the end.
I’m sorry for your loss. My dad died a couple of years ago and while I called him dad, he was actually my mom’s 3rd ex-husband, my little sister’s father but no blood relation to me at all. It didn’t matter, he was still my dad. It’s like I tell my daughter, family isn’t about blood, it’s about love and sometimes we’re lucky enough to get to choose.
What a wonderful tribute, so sorry to hear of his passing. Lovely that he had such a loving family, I always feel that that speaks volumes about a person.
Thank you for sharing Jim with us all. Brought a tear to my eye, and made me think of a few of the kind, boisterous, kid-loving adults I had known growing up.
Thanks, Melissa. Seeing the kids, grandkids and even great-grandkids at the service tells me Jim’s memory will live on.
Thank you, Sarah Sometimes.
Toni—So many wonderful stories came to mind in the days following his passing, most of them involving the big smile you see in the photo above.
Em—And I’m sure your dad felt every bit as lucky in his choice as you did.
Thank you, Laura. It was exactly that feeling that made the day less sad for all of us.
Altadenahiker—It’s so important to kids to have at least one adult like that in their lives, isn’t it?
I have tears in my eyes, Terry. So wonderfully written and shared. I felt a real, three-dimensional Jim in your words – maybe even related a little to his endless dreams and need to make things better. And the kindness and love he showed your mom – priceless. A lovely tribute, my friend. Hey mom and dad…say hello to Red for me, will ya?
My condolence to you and family. Thank you for sharing the briefing about Jim… He would not be forgotten by those whom he touched with his heart… RIP
You’ve proven with this post that you are truly a writer, Terry. I could see Jim sitting at the table, excitedly sharing his newest idea. And if you hadn’t already loved him, the tenderness he showed to your mother when she was ill would have won you over, I’m sure. I’m sorry for your loss. At least he didn’t suffer long. Take care.
You’ve written such a beautiful post that makes us all feel your loss. My thoughts are with you and your family.
I’m happy your kids not only had Jim in your life, but you did too. What a blessing. What lessons he taught about living and love and being good without being a stereotype. You’ve explored how one person’s life can make such a difference beautifully here.
Your loss is a big one. I wish you peace through your grieving.
Terry I’m sad to read your post. Family doesn’t need to be blood related. You are so fortunate to have had such a lovely father figure in your life.
Thanks, Ronnie Ann. I think those dreams were one secret to his longevity—a lesson for us all.
Pixen—Thanks for your kind words.
Dani—You’re exactly right. Jim and I didn’t always see eye-to-eye, especially when I was younger. Even our differences were minor, more generational than anything. But all melted away when I saw him with my mother at the end.
Thank you, Lydia.
Christina—The thing that struck me as I was surrounded by his many friends and relatives is how much seemingly ordinary lives matter when lived well. Yes, one person can make a difference.
Randi—I really didn’t mean to inspire sadness with my memories of Jim. Many of those left behind were saddened by Jim’s passing. But for the past several days, much of what I have felt has been happiness as I considered what a rich life he had lived.
What a love tribute to Jim, certainly a dad in actions even if you didn’t call him that. My best to you and your family during this difficult time.
We are saddened by your loss. Thank you for allowing us to meet Jim through your lovely tribute.
Lou and Marie
Wonderful tribute to Jim. It sounds as though he has touched your hearts and the hearts of many. My thoughts are with your family during this time.
Great post as always, my friend… you are a great writer. But I’ve known that for a long time. Life is the journey, and I’m glad you are able to recognize that Jim was a significant signpost in yours along the way. I think 90% of the battle is just realizing and being in the moment of “knowing” – the word escapes me – maybe Testament? – that there is more to this existence than meets the senses.
Recognizing this in your Stepdad, and articulating it as you do, for us, this is the real “stuff” of life, of why we exist, of what it is really all about. Serving up great recipes every week nourishes the body. Your recognition and testimony — this is Nourishment for the Soul.
Nice Jeab.
Like I do every week, last night I read this post on my Blackberry late in the evening. This morning I just had to come back to express my condolences and tell you how much I enjoyed your words about Jim. You know I enjoy all your posts, but this one was extra special. Hugs to you and Marion.
A beautiful, thoughtful tribute, Terry, I’m so sorry for your loss.
Hi Terry,
I’m so sorry to hear this and I sure have you and your family in my prayers. It is sad to lose people but I’m glad to know he didn’t have pain at the end. And blogs are so wonderful as they act as a journal to share our thoughts, triumphs, and tragedies – a way for us to heal and find closure. Thank you for sharing this story with us.
A very lovely tribute to a man who obviously meant a lot to you. Thank y0u for sharing your thoughts and feelings.
Terry, that was a beautiful post. I’m very sorry for your loss.
Terry, very poignant details…specially about Jim’s vigil with your Mom in the middle of the night. That will stick with me as a model of the real glory of love. Courageous sharing, thank you.
Oh dear. I’m so sorry to hear of this, Terry.
I hope you are comforted at least in knowing that your mother and stepfather had so many good years with each other.
My thoughts are with you and your family.
I’m woefully behind on my blog reading and just seeing this now. I’m very sorry for your loss – it’s obvious he held a special place in your heart.
A very touching tribute. My sympathy.
What a lovely tribute, Terry. Impeccably written and surely from the heart. My sympathies to you and your family.
Mimi
I’ve got tears in my eyes reading this post. What a fine tribute to a special man. Your mom was in loving hands til the end. Did they ever get to enjoy your gift for cooking? I certainly hope so.
much love,
evi
Thank you, everyone, for your kind words and thoughts. This outpouring of sympathy and caring is one of the things I love about the blogging community. I intended this post as a celebration of Jim’s life and what he gave to those who knew him. I hope that came through, despite all the sadness of the moment.
A very lovely tribute. It absolutely came through as a celebration of him and of what he contributed to your life.
May your grief be swift, your memories filled with joy, and healing quicken with time.
Terry- I’m so sorry about Jim’s death. I know it must also bring back memories of your mom’s illness and passing. Glad he was a good Grandpa to your kids! I bet he was a real character to them! And, glad you and Marion went down to the funeral.
Shauna
I’m sorry for your loss, but thank you for sharing it so lovingly.
Terry, I’m late in reading this but found it quite a treasure. What an honor to him and his entire family, to have such precious words added to, no doubt, many wonderful memories. Not one of us is perfect but your words are a testament to how we can (and should) love each other any way – there is no greater gift. So sorry for your loss and wishing you and your family peace and comfort.
My heart goes out to you as the same velocity at which I wish to express my thanks for this beautiful tribute. Thank you–step parents often come out on the short end of acknowledgment, and here you have changed that sentiment.
You and your family are fortunate to have had Jim’s gift 🙂 and likewise, he yours.
what a great gift of kind spirit