Once again as an extended family we find ourselves gathered together in this place to celebrate and remember the life of a loved one: my cousin Jim.
Jim passed away a year and a week after the death of his beloved spouse Diana, and nearly a year after the passing of his mother, our Aunt Jean. That year, I’m sure, was a difficult one for Jim. Not only did he continue to work in his profession as a dentist; he also continued to receive treatments for his cancer, which had spread to his bones. At the same time I’m certain that he entered a period of extended mourning. Such milestones are not easy for any human being to bear.
We exchanged several e-mails over the course of this past year. In one I asked Jim how he managed to keep himself together. I recall his reply: “by deep faith.” In the end it was his faith that got him through.
As I read through Jim’s obituary, one line stood out. “Many of his patients, family and friends knew and loved him for his gentleness and compassion.” That one line brought a smile to my face.
In a telephone conversation this past week, my mother related to me how my cousin Jim provided dental care for my Aunt Poll and Uncle Skip over the course of the 29 years that he practiced general dentistry. Jim refused to accept any monetary payment from them, although he welcomed my Aunt Poll’s apple pies as a token of appreciation for services rendered. I also learned that Jim provided pro bono dental care to countless children whose families were too poor to afford it.
My cousin Jim suffered quite a bit in his life, particularly over the course of these past several years. But it seems as though he succeeded in spinning his suffering into a tapestry of sorts: a tapestry of gentleness and compassion for his patients, his family and his friends.
My cousin Jim took upon himself the yoke of a wounded healer. He used his pain and suffering to create and disseminate a little bit of goodness and love in this world.
That, to me, will be my cousin Jim’s legacy.