In his 20s, Jim was diagnosed with an inherited kidney disease. Shortly after losing his own father, he learned that he carried the same gene.
We bonded with Jim the year he placed his daughter's hand into that of our son and blessed their union. It was the same year that he qualified for a kidney transplant. It was 2010.
Jim and Mari joined us in celebrating our 30th wedding anniversary with the newlyweds in Colorado. We converged on Yellowstone in winter to celebrate their 30th two years later. We continued the new tradition by meeting again in Nevada and Wisconsin. We so enjoyed the unexpected gift of friendship that came with the merging of our family histories.
This year we all gave thanks in November for a successful kidney transplant. We held our breaths over Christmas, as Jim returned to the hospital with complications. We wept at year's end when the happy ending turned sad.
It is difficult this year to respond when cheerful friends ask, "How were your holidays?" The question inevitably triggers the memories of hope, hope dashed against the rocks of reality, pain, and loss. But that is not all that it triggers.
When I reflect on the new year, I also remember the beauty of family gathered in loving embrace. I think of those who came from far away, and those who were stymied by weather. I remember a rich variety of flower arrangements, family photos, and mementoes on display. I remember the celebration of an ordinary life lived in an extraordinary way.
I think of the strong women (wife, daughters, mother, sister, aunts and nieces) whose pain reflected the depths of their bond and the role Jim had played as the man in an extended female family. And, among those women, I remember best the woman who spoke on behalf of them all.
Jennie gave the eulogy at her father's funeral Mass. She spoke with calm and grace, unscripted and from the heart. The stories she told flowed with humor and affection. This is the Jennie who loves our son and belongs to our family too. This is the Jennie who brought Jim and Mari into our lives and introduced us to a man whose loss we now grieve.
How were the holidays this year? They were difficult. They were complicated. They were painful. They were filled with both loss and love. They were beautiful. And they were holy.
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The price of love is the pain of loss. You have no doubt experienced that fact as well. Where do you find the impetus to move forward, to heal, and to love some more?
