Today is the first anniversary of the death of Jim Lindsay, my good friend Nancy’s soulmate. I hadn’t realized it had been this long until I saw her post on Facebook. A post that brought me once again to tears.
To me, it seems like yesterday that news of Jim’s terrible illness and subsequent death reached me through a series of texts from a mutual friend. But the sorrow I see in Nancy’s eyes, and the pain in her voice every time she speaks his name lets me know that to her, Jim has been gone for what seems like an eternity.
Truthfully, I didn’t know Jim very well. The first time I met him, he was living in a genuine teepee while working with my husband at a refuel outage at a nuclear plant. I found him to be an extremely fascinating man.
Jim smoked a pipe, knew how to tie all sorts of knots, live on a shoestring, and loved his wilderness cabin in Montana where he enjoyed beautiful vistas of forested mountains from his back porch. And of course, he loved Nancy.
We weep with those who weep because love binds our hearts in inexplicable ways and causes a measure of their pain to become our own. This is part of friendship, of family. Of love.
November 24, 1951-
September 29, 2015