When growing up, I had lots of cousins.  There were about fifty of us on my father’s side of the family.  Jimmy was five or six years older than me; I was close with his sister, Jeanne, who was more my age.  He had three older brothers and, like them, was well rounded, handsome, and good at sports.  They made him tough; his sisters made him more thoughtful and respectful; his dad made him interested in cars and to be a gentleman; and his mom made him an entertainer and one who used his gifts to encourage others and to glorify God; his entire family unit made him sentimental.  I admired him.

He was the age of my older brother, who periodically hosted Jimmy and his friends at our family farm to ride horses and shoot guns.  I remember watching him and wanting to be like him: gregarious, funny, adventurous, talented, daring.  He saw the good in others, even the dorks, and was always the life of the party.  He had common sense, a good work ethic, and was the type of guy who went the extra mile or took additional time to help another, whether friend or stranger.  He also had his faults.  He was loud and sometimes obnoxious; he struggled through a failed marriage and failed business.  But he always landed on his feet and was surrounded by a great group of friends that he collected from every stage of his life.

He had a good singing voice and obeyed his mother when she told him that it wouldn’t hurt him one bit to sing in the church choir.  The Saint Elizabeth Noon Choir of the 1970s was very cool.  Those were experimental years after the Second Vatican Council and his young group harmoniously rocked through concerts, albums, and terrific tunes that touched the soul.  It made me become interested in church and helped me realize that Catholicism can be enlivening and inspirational, even for young or unconventional people.

Though cousins tend to see a lot of each other as kids, we have our own lives as grown-ups that take us in varied directions.  I was very happy to be assigned to his parish, Saint Thomas More, decades later, and discovered that he and his buddies were still connected to the church via music.  They liked to sing and that, in unpredictable and unforeseen ways, kept them close to God.  It gave me the opportunity and good fortune to spend time with him as an adult.  What a blessing!  Same ole Jimmy.  Same life of the party.  We’ve remained friends for the past twenty years, seeing each other regularly for a drink, a conversation, a meal, and a monthly book club we were in.  Like when I was younger, I was happy in his presence.

Earlier this year, Jimmy was diagnosed with cancer.  He and his wife, Carol, fought it, every hour, every way, taking on each new obstacle that surfaced, spending long, lonely days at KU Med.  Friends gathered regularly to pray.  He was embarrassed by the attention but grateful for the compassionate, loving support.  Earlier this week, the disease spread throughout his body.  It all happened way too fast.  He died this afternoon, encircled by Carol, all those siblings, and his son surrounded by scores of cousins as we once were.

We each get to live.  We all have to die.  It’s what we do while we’re here that matters.  Saint Irenaeus once said that the greatest glory we can ever give to God is, while we’re alive, that we be fully alive.  Through my eyes, Jimmy lived life to the fullest—not perfectly but all in, all the time.  In that, he honored Our Lord.  I am grateful for his example, his companionship, and the gift that he was and will continue to be.