sons and daughters of Jim

I found out this morning that my some dearest friends' father just died. He had three daughters and a son. He had five grandchildren. The whole family, they are all very good people. I have been lucky enough to know and be close to this family for almost two decades.

Jim was fast-talking, warm, wiry, blunt, energetic (a touch manic), a great cook, a sweet man. In a good-humoured way, he could be fantastically profane (so exotic and thrilling when we were teenagers! a parent who swore!) but could easily and readily rein it in and be as refined and well-mannered as any situation required. In his core he was a gentleman.

I lived with two of his daughters in Vancouver, and they agreed that anyone who chopped food so quickly or moved so fast in the kitchen that they broke something or injured themselves - but still produced delicious food - was an "honourary daughter of Jim". I earned it by flashing around the kitchen at lightning speed, whipping cupboards open and shut, and then accidentally slicing my finger with a knife and announcing it to the household with a quick string of profanities.

Jim was Pops to everyone, but was especially like a dad towards another dear friend of ours, starting when she was young and her parents separated, a very hard time for her. It came naturally to him, and to the rest of the family, to take her into the fold.

His kids had all begged him to be better to himself, but the disease he had finally took him away completely. I am so sorry Pops.

His children, every one, inherited many of his finest qualities, including his utter lack of pretension, his unflinching candour and his warmth. I adore the lot of them and wish they could have been spared this loss, this way.