Jim was dealt a rough hand. Born into a fringe religious cult, he was brought up in a communal home, abused and neglected, his parents eventually abandoning him to the foster care system. He had both physical and learning disabilities, and (not surprisingly) was considered a troublemaker from early on.
The communal home was two houses down from my mom, and she, being who she was, took it upon herself to befriend him, petulant as he was – inviting him in for dessert and conversation. He never forgot her kindness, and kept in touch over the years. When she died, he, twenty-five, gruff and hardscrabble, was among the first to come pay tribute.
We as a family, and my brother David in particular, have been keeping up with Jim in the years since. Severely injured while working on a fishing boat in the Pacific Northwest, he settled in Seattle, disabled, with ongoing health problems. But then came some good news: he'd met a nurse named Ellie, who became the love of his life.
Having craved for family all his life, he finally had one, and David – who talked to him just days ago – says that Jim seemed more upbeat, positive, and mature than ever before, with plans to enter college for the first time.
Sadly, Jim committed suicide on the night of February 12, 2007.
1 comment:
Hi Kent - I haven't been back to your site in a while. You're doing a great job with it. Every entry is interesting. What dedication! I'm full of admiration. Keep it up.
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