dear Jim,

On September 1, 2019 I lost one of my best friends.
I was on my way home from church when I got the call that Jim had died in a tragic fall on a hunting trip in southeastern Oregon. Jim and I started working together the year after we graduated from high school, which means we spent over half our lives building things together. I consider him to be like a brother, and I'm determined to make him proud.
I wrote this letter to him about 3 hours after I found out he was gone, and I shared it at the service today. 

Hug your people.

Tell them you love them. 

Take care of each other.
​
Nothing else matters.  

9/1/19


Dear Jim, 

Sometimes someone comes into your life and you don’t realize how much you love and appreciate them. But then there are other people – and you know for certain that you’re on the same life path together for a reason. 
You tell them you appreciate them all the time, because you do. 
But you’re not sure why you feel the need to tell them that so frequently – you just do. 
I’m so glad I can honestly say I told you all the time… because I do. 
I’ve always thought that you and Chris and I would roll through all life’s phases together – that we would have the chance to support each other through the things that are in the inevitable future. I’ve never imagined it any other way, but here we are. You’re going to be in the beautiful wilderness forever, where you love to be. 
God’s Country. 
Heaven. 

I’m in complete shock right now, but my mind is running like a Rolodex through all the things I don’t want to forget. In the 22+ years that we got to work together we’ve been through a lot of life. 
So many things – 
Good things and difficult things. 
Victory and defeat. 
Laughter and frustration. 

I never want to forget…

• Your girls coming to the shop and sitting in your truck at the end of the day
• How proud you were of the Berger-Bauman library job, and the phenomenal work you did there. 
• You, Chris, and Drew moving me out of my house when I got divorced. You saying to keep going when I was breaking down. 
• How many DeWalt tools you have, and how I would tease you about being a brand rep 
• Your tool truck all set up the way you like it 
• Giving each other high five’s in passing in the shop 
• Your text messages with all the sarcasm 
• My mom giving you the Employee of the Decade certificate
• When you told me that you bought a boat because you were going to make memories with your family
• Your proficiency in eye rolling
• Country music all day – and you singing along
• You complaining to Carmel about the selection in the candy jar 
• How hard my health challenges were for you to express, but how we had progressed to a quick hug when I came back to work from surgery 
• Your text message after I got into a fight with my dad 
• Me promising you that I wouldn’t quit.

I’m not sure you said a single word to me for about the first 8-10 years we worked together. But especially in the last 4-5 years, as the ground beneath my feet felt like it was constantly shifting, you became a person I could count on to be there. We didn’t have to say much, but we knew we were committed to this thing that we had the privilege of doing together. I can remember several quick but impactful conversations – that changed me and fortified me. And I can remember telling you nothing matters more than Becca and your girls. Nothing. 

Going forward, I know what you want. I know you want me to push on and continue to fight. I know you want us to figure out a way to adjust the course and continue to make beautiful things. I promise to strive for your level of quality in everything I do and honor our friendship in that way. I can’t stop thinking about how you left this earth doing something you love so much, in a place you love, with your brothers. For as long as I’ve known you, you have always prioritized doing things you love with people you love. Today I asked myself if I can say the same. I promise to honor your memory by seeking out more adventure and things I enjoy and taking the time to do them.  

Recently you went up to my parent’s house and installed the ship lap paneling in the casita. When I saw it, my dad was telling me that “Jim did too nice of a job – the joints were too perfect” and it made me smile. He has always been so proud of you – who you are, and the work you do. He’s heartbroken right now, and in shock. I just wish I could tell you how much you mean to him… but it’s ok, because I know you already know. 

Thank you, Jim. Thank you for being so loyal to my parents, to me, and to Chris and the guys. But more than that, thank you for being so crazy about Becca, and for being such a great dad to the girls.  
You’ve made me a better person. And I love you so much for that. 

I won’t quit. I promise. 


Love, Am 

for becca xo  

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