Thursday, November 4, 2010


We lost Jim's Grandpa Koch at the beginning of October.  Two weeks later, we lost his Grandma Koch as well. 

When I was first getting to know Jim, I remember him saying that having lunch with his grandpa while he was growing up (a common, everyday thing) remained, even to this day, one of the best and most important memories of his life.

In the mix of all that these losses have meant for his family, it has also meant a lot of recalling memories for Jim, and I've heard stories I'd never heard, and gone through old photographs with him while we were back at his family home.

He was given a folder of clippings and notes his grandma had saved over the years. 

I still remember the first time I went home with Jim for Thanksgiving. Several people called him Jimmy, as if this was always his name. Because it was. 

Slowly, once he was married, it lost out to Jim, until just one, sometimes two, grandmothers reserved the right to keep his name young like he was in their memories.

I only use it to patronize.

But I like to remember that there were nearly 20 years of time before I met him, when he was growing up, pestering his brother, working on 4H projects, receiving perfect scores on math tests, eating cookies, and learning how to farm, and, being called Jimmy.

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