One Year Later . . . .

I miss him.  I really do.  It was a year ago today that we lost him, but we were so blessed to have him as long as we did.  In October 2010, I got a new guitar and started playing again for the first time since my teenage years.  I played it for them on Thanksgiving Day last year.

“That James is getting really good on that guitar,” he told my aunt the day after, the day that would be his last full day on Earth.

Special Meaning

“I’m so glad you came play the guitar for him,” was the first thing my aunt said to me — not “hello” nor “good morning” nor “they’re in room 304” — when I arrived at the hospital shortly after dawn one year ago this morning.

Within a couple of hours after he died in the early afternoon, I grabbed this picture of a structure that I have always associated with him.

Many a fishing trips went along that canal and under that bridge.

The Song

Just a couple of hours after he breathed his last breath as I held his hand, I was at what I now call my grandmother’s house.  She insisted I allow her to wash her own dishes, and I was not even remotely in a position to insist otherwise.  So, I grabbed my guitar and I started playing, freestyling, basically, this song based on a song you should already know.

The Best Thanksgiving Ever

I was so grateful for that fortuitous timing in beginning to play guitar again, and I was thankful for so much more, having faced some big demons just before he died, that I’ve said that it was the best Thanksgiving ever.  Really, though, I can’t say that this Thanksgiving has not been as great.  Rie’s death, about which I still haven’t written at length, has really, thankfully, opened my eyes to so much.  Grumpy seemed to hit on this theme with his Thanksgiving post this year.  His follow-up post is quite good too.

The New Challenge

Part of the reason for the lack of updates here on Jimbaux’s Journal is that I’ve just been ridiculously busy lately, though I foresee some time being available to write in the coming week; the challenge is to move all these numerous projects I have forward so that next Thanksgiving – and each subsequent one – is no less reason for gratitude than this one.  Rie’s death had a big impact on me, and I hope to write about it soon, but I can summarize it by saying that not only do I have numerous reasons to feel gratitude, but I’ve also learned in the last month that gratitude is not merely something that you express; it’s something that you have to learn to feel.

All for now, and Happy Thanksgiving . . .

Jimbaux