He wasn’t there when I was born or when I took my first step. But he was there when I learned how to drive and when I got my first-ever job. He walked me down the aisle at my wedding. He was there more than my “real” father ever was.
My brother and I always called him Jim or Jimmy. Everyone else had a dad, but we got a Jimmy. Which was so much better. Better because it was always a choice we all made. To be a family.
That family has grown and expanded, but now it has a hole. A big one. Everything Jimmy did was big, a grand gesture. He had a big life. And we were blessed to be an important part of it.
There is too much to say, and I really can’t find the words. You had to know him. If you did, you know how I feel. The world was a better place, a friendlier one, with him in it.
Now I sit and stare out the window, wondering how to paint you a picture so you understand. But if you have a dad, I suppose you do. That mine somehow meant more to me because he wasn’t my mine by accident is just my grief wanting to be heard, to be shared. So I share it with you.
So long, Jimmy. It was a good life. Thanks for letting me be a part of it.
With love always,