Jim was my son. Born in the midwest like his mama he grew up in southwestern Pennsylvania where his dad was born and raised. Loved by his parents, younger sister Beth, former stepmother Carol, little brother Matthew, maternal grandparents Jack & Barb Disher, paternal grandparents Ron & Dee Pickens, aunts and uncles especially Ron, cousins, extended family members, and anyone who ever met him.
He always had a nickname - Bubba, Bubba Jim, Jim Bob, and finally Jimbo. A fun guy. The first time I heard him called that was when a girl from his 6th grade class said, "That Jim Pickens is just a fun guy." And so he was.
But as his mother I knew other sides to him as well. The soft-hearted boy who loved animals, especially dogs. The creative boy who invented new Transformers and drew them in exquisite detail. The curious boy who got into mischief following his curiosity wherever it led.
When his dad and I divorced during his senior year of high school it left him bewildered and confused. It became apparent he didn't want to live with his sister and me so he moved in with his dad and future stepmother across the state far from his current life and school. He graduated high school separated from familiar friends and family. Years later he followed his dad to North Carolina and became an employee at the same car dealership.
And that's when Jimbo was born. Carefree, responsible to no one but himself, a loyal friend to all, and a guaranteed good time to anyone who shared his company. He loved wheels - bikes and skateboards when he was younger (he was a champion BMX racer), remote control cars and when he got older flashy cars and even a bright yellow Harley. And he still enjoyed remote control cars.
I did not know Jimbo and only learned about him at his memorial service in North Carolina. Time and distance had made us strangers to each other. By the time he moved to NC I was remarried and again living in the midwest. The last time I saw him was at his sister's college graduation in 2001. I followed him on FB but he didn't post much and we talked seldom. By 2015 he had abandoned his FB page and my "Happy birthday" greeting went unanswered.
When I found out he had died it was his ex-stepmother who called. I had a day's notice to get to NC to see my son one last time before his cremation. My dear sister agreed to go with me and after a hectic day's flying and driving we arrived in the rain at the funeral home in Greenville. I got to spend a half hour with my son and it was worth any price I had to pay. He was still the boy I held in my heart even though at 41 there was gray in his hair and crows feet around his eyes. My heart broke at what was lost.
But it mended a bit the next day at his memorial service when dozens of strangers told me with tears in their eyes how much he meant to them and and how much they would miss him. I laughed at the stories they told and realized that the Jimbo they knew had been a happy, fun-loving guy. They called him a big teddy bear. They loved his sense of fun that brought out the Jimbo in all of us. That part of each one of us that just wants to let go and enjoy life. Who else but Jimbo would think to bring a stripper to an all-guy fishing trip?
In the end his big heart let him down. It just stopped while he was sleeping. He'd taken his two dogs for a walk late at night and the next morning his dad found him and the dogs out on the patio. There was nothing anyone could do. No warning, no time. But also no pain and no suffering for Jimbo. His heart could never have withstood that...so it just stopped.
My son leaves behind no wife or children, no legacy of any kind. Just plenty of tears and hurting hearts. But also a reminder to sometimes just let go and enjoy life. As a teen he often said to his annoyed mother, "Just chill, Mom." I had a hard time doing that then. But I promise to make the effort now. For Jimbo.
He always had a nickname - Bubba, Bubba Jim, Jim Bob, and finally Jimbo. A fun guy. The first time I heard him called that was when a girl from his 6th grade class said, "That Jim Pickens is just a fun guy." And so he was.
But as his mother I knew other sides to him as well. The soft-hearted boy who loved animals, especially dogs. The creative boy who invented new Transformers and drew them in exquisite detail. The curious boy who got into mischief following his curiosity wherever it led.
When his dad and I divorced during his senior year of high school it left him bewildered and confused. It became apparent he didn't want to live with his sister and me so he moved in with his dad and future stepmother across the state far from his current life and school. He graduated high school separated from familiar friends and family. Years later he followed his dad to North Carolina and became an employee at the same car dealership.
And that's when Jimbo was born. Carefree, responsible to no one but himself, a loyal friend to all, and a guaranteed good time to anyone who shared his company. He loved wheels - bikes and skateboards when he was younger (he was a champion BMX racer), remote control cars and when he got older flashy cars and even a bright yellow Harley. And he still enjoyed remote control cars.
I did not know Jimbo and only learned about him at his memorial service in North Carolina. Time and distance had made us strangers to each other. By the time he moved to NC I was remarried and again living in the midwest. The last time I saw him was at his sister's college graduation in 2001. I followed him on FB but he didn't post much and we talked seldom. By 2015 he had abandoned his FB page and my "Happy birthday" greeting went unanswered.
When I found out he had died it was his ex-stepmother who called. I had a day's notice to get to NC to see my son one last time before his cremation. My dear sister agreed to go with me and after a hectic day's flying and driving we arrived in the rain at the funeral home in Greenville. I got to spend a half hour with my son and it was worth any price I had to pay. He was still the boy I held in my heart even though at 41 there was gray in his hair and crows feet around his eyes. My heart broke at what was lost.
But it mended a bit the next day at his memorial service when dozens of strangers told me with tears in their eyes how much he meant to them and and how much they would miss him. I laughed at the stories they told and realized that the Jimbo they knew had been a happy, fun-loving guy. They called him a big teddy bear. They loved his sense of fun that brought out the Jimbo in all of us. That part of each one of us that just wants to let go and enjoy life. Who else but Jimbo would think to bring a stripper to an all-guy fishing trip?
In the end his big heart let him down. It just stopped while he was sleeping. He'd taken his two dogs for a walk late at night and the next morning his dad found him and the dogs out on the patio. There was nothing anyone could do. No warning, no time. But also no pain and no suffering for Jimbo. His heart could never have withstood that...so it just stopped.
My son leaves behind no wife or children, no legacy of any kind. Just plenty of tears and hurting hearts. But also a reminder to sometimes just let go and enjoy life. As a teen he often said to his annoyed mother, "Just chill, Mom." I had a hard time doing that then. But I promise to make the effort now. For Jimbo.
Jim was my son. Born in the midwest like his mama he grew up in southwestern Pennsylvania where his dad was born and raised. Loved by his parents, younger sister Beth, former stepmother Carol, little brother Matthew, maternal grandparents Jack & Barb Disher, paternal grandparents Ron & Dee Pickens, aunts and uncles especially Ron, cousins, extended family members, and anyone who ever met him.
He always had a nickname - Bubba, Bubba Jim, Jim Bob, and finally Jimbo. A fun guy. The first time I heard him called that was when a girl from his 6th grade class said, "That Jim Pickens is just a fun guy." And so he was.
But as his mother I knew other sides to him as well. The soft-hearted boy who loved animals, especially dogs. The creative boy who invented new Transformers and drew them in exquisite detail. The curious boy who got into mischief following his curiosity wherever it led.
When his dad and I divorced during his senior year of high school it left him bewildered and confused. It became apparent he didn't want to live with his sister and me so he moved in with his dad and future stepmother across the state far from his current life and school. He graduated high school separated from familiar friends and family. Years later he followed his dad to North Carolina and became an employee at the same car dealership.
And that's when Jimbo was born. Carefree, responsible to no one but himself, a loyal friend to all, and a guaranteed good time to anyone who shared his company. He loved wheels - bikes and skateboards when he was younger (he was a champion BMX racer), remote control cars and when he got older flashy cars and even a bright yellow Harley. And he still enjoyed remote control cars.
I did not know Jimbo and only learned about him at his memorial service in North Carolina. Time and distance had made us strangers to each other. By the time he moved to NC I was remarried and again living in the midwest. The last time I saw him was at his sister's college graduation in 2001. I followed him on FB but he didn't post much and we talked seldom. By 2015 he had abandoned his FB page and my "Happy birthday" greeting went unanswered.
When I found out he had died it was his ex-stepmother who called. I had a day's notice to get to NC to see my son one last time before his cremation. My dear sister agreed to go with me and after a hectic day's flying and driving we arrived in the rain at the funeral home in Greenville. I got to spend a half hour with my son and it was worth any price I had to pay. He was still the boy I held in my heart even though at 41 there was gray in his hair and crows feet around his eyes. My heart broke at what was lost.
But it mended a bit the next day at his memorial service when dozens of strangers told me with tears in their eyes how much he meant to them and and how much they would miss him. I laughed at the stories they told and realized that the Jimbo they knew had been a happy, fun-loving guy. They called him a big teddy bear. They loved his sense of fun that brought out the Jimbo in all of us. That part of each one of us that just wants to let go and enjoy life. Who else but Jimbo would think to bring a stripper to an all-guy fishing trip?
In the end his big heart let him down. It just stopped while he was sleeping. He'd taken his two dogs for a walk late at night and the next morning his dad found him and the dogs out on the patio. There was nothing anyone could do. No warning, no time. But also no pain and no suffering for Jimbo. His heart could never have withstood that...so it just stopped.
My son leaves behind no wife or children, no legacy of any kind. Just plenty of tears and hurting hearts. But also a reminder to sometimes just let go and enjoy life. As a teen he often said to his annoyed mother, "Just chill, Mom." I had a hard time doing that then. But I promise to make the effort now. For Jimbo.
He always had a nickname - Bubba, Bubba Jim, Jim Bob, and finally Jimbo. A fun guy. The first time I heard him called that was when a girl from his 6th grade class said, "That Jim Pickens is just a fun guy." And so he was.
But as his mother I knew other sides to him as well. The soft-hearted boy who loved animals, especially dogs. The creative boy who invented new Transformers and drew them in exquisite detail. The curious boy who got into mischief following his curiosity wherever it led.
When his dad and I divorced during his senior year of high school it left him bewildered and confused. It became apparent he didn't want to live with his sister and me so he moved in with his dad and future stepmother across the state far from his current life and school. He graduated high school separated from familiar friends and family. Years later he followed his dad to North Carolina and became an employee at the same car dealership.
And that's when Jimbo was born. Carefree, responsible to no one but himself, a loyal friend to all, and a guaranteed good time to anyone who shared his company. He loved wheels - bikes and skateboards when he was younger (he was a champion BMX racer), remote control cars and when he got older flashy cars and even a bright yellow Harley. And he still enjoyed remote control cars.
I did not know Jimbo and only learned about him at his memorial service in North Carolina. Time and distance had made us strangers to each other. By the time he moved to NC I was remarried and again living in the midwest. The last time I saw him was at his sister's college graduation in 2001. I followed him on FB but he didn't post much and we talked seldom. By 2015 he had abandoned his FB page and my "Happy birthday" greeting went unanswered.
When I found out he had died it was his ex-stepmother who called. I had a day's notice to get to NC to see my son one last time before his cremation. My dear sister agreed to go with me and after a hectic day's flying and driving we arrived in the rain at the funeral home in Greenville. I got to spend a half hour with my son and it was worth any price I had to pay. He was still the boy I held in my heart even though at 41 there was gray in his hair and crows feet around his eyes. My heart broke at what was lost.
But it mended a bit the next day at his memorial service when dozens of strangers told me with tears in their eyes how much he meant to them and and how much they would miss him. I laughed at the stories they told and realized that the Jimbo they knew had been a happy, fun-loving guy. They called him a big teddy bear. They loved his sense of fun that brought out the Jimbo in all of us. That part of each one of us that just wants to let go and enjoy life. Who else but Jimbo would think to bring a stripper to an all-guy fishing trip?
In the end his big heart let him down. It just stopped while he was sleeping. He'd taken his two dogs for a walk late at night and the next morning his dad found him and the dogs out on the patio. There was nothing anyone could do. No warning, no time. But also no pain and no suffering for Jimbo. His heart could never have withstood that...so it just stopped.
My son leaves behind no wife or children, no legacy of any kind. Just plenty of tears and hurting hearts. But also a reminder to sometimes just let go and enjoy life. As a teen he often said to his annoyed mother, "Just chill, Mom." I had a hard time doing that then. But I promise to make the effort now. For Jimbo.
