Jimmy was a quiet kid. In our Kansas high school he sort of floated around the edge of the social circles, if that. No one went out of their way to engage him and vice versa.
Over four decades after graduation, his name popped up on my Face book page. We got in touch and he told me of an interesting life filled with kids, grandkids and over 30 years of service with the Social Security Administration in Chicago. We began a “conversation” that’s lasted for three years now.
Jimmy became a lay minister for his church and held revival meetings at various churches. After his retirement, especially, he blessed many Christians with his counsel and sermons.
When I learned of his death last week, I felt the road-rash of grief for my friend. There was so much more I wanted to know of him. I wanted our friendship to have years to blossom. I felt sorry for his family. There was within me the sorrow one feels at the death of a friend.
I wanted to go and wrap my arms around his family and let them know a guy who only knew Jimmy as a shadow in high school, loved him and knew his significance to his family and friends.
Grief comes in all sizes. It comes to everyone. But Jimmy’s wife and daughter’s grief are on a whole other level from mine.
A gaping hole has been left in his world; a heartfelt sorrow in mine.
I’ll miss you Jimmy. Not so much for what I know of you, but for what I was learning from you.