My dear friend Jim Peachey passed away this morning. I really loved him. He was kind of like an uncle to me. Along with his wife Pat, he took an interest in me and treated me with kindness and respect from earliest childhood. Some of my favorite memories of Jim are:
Once, when I was about 5 or 6, Jim and his son Dave brought their dune buggy over for my Dad to tinker with. I was one of those kids who is so curious about everything that I was constantly underfoot. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about, and true to form was right there in the way. But instead of ignoring me or shoving me aside as others did who brought their cars to Dad (fixing is his hobby), Jim put his arm around me and, pointing to the buggy's bright white shell asked, "When we're done here, do you want to go for a ride?" I nodded, "Yes!" He delivered.
Another time, when I was a freshly minted Beehive, still nervous and awkward, I was called on to give a youth talk in Sacrament Meeting. I got up and gave my talk. After the meeting, I recall how Jim found me and said, "DR, that was the best youth talk I've ever heard. Well done!" I'm sure he had heard many finer, but he was building me -- I just didn't know it then, but I get it now.
When I left on my mission, he and Pat came to the house with a check and he told me he was proud of me. When I returned and gave my report in Church, he was there telling me that I'd done well. When I married, Peach acknowledged. When Emma was born prematurely, he was a counselor in the bishopric of the Cupertino Ward -- a ward I had not belonged to for several years, but he urged ward members to fast for my baby.
I cherish the photos I have of him holding Rachel and Caroline as newborns. I will never forget his gentle voice to me this past summer, "Well DR, tell me what you are doing in NY." I didn't register it until now that when I invited them to New York, Pat said she would come, but Jim just shook his head. He was saying goodbye. I was just unready to hear it.
I never heard him angry or unkind. He paid attention to the details of my life -- and in doing so, let me know that I was important and that he cared. I believe he was like that with everyone.
Going to Phoenix for his funeral seems a small thank you to such a great man. I will miss JP.
Once, when I was about 5 or 6, Jim and his son Dave brought their dune buggy over for my Dad to tinker with. I was one of those kids who is so curious about everything that I was constantly underfoot. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about, and true to form was right there in the way. But instead of ignoring me or shoving me aside as others did who brought their cars to Dad (fixing is his hobby), Jim put his arm around me and, pointing to the buggy's bright white shell asked, "When we're done here, do you want to go for a ride?" I nodded, "Yes!" He delivered.
Another time, when I was a freshly minted Beehive, still nervous and awkward, I was called on to give a youth talk in Sacrament Meeting. I got up and gave my talk. After the meeting, I recall how Jim found me and said, "DR, that was the best youth talk I've ever heard. Well done!" I'm sure he had heard many finer, but he was building me -- I just didn't know it then, but I get it now.
When I left on my mission, he and Pat came to the house with a check and he told me he was proud of me. When I returned and gave my report in Church, he was there telling me that I'd done well. When I married, Peach acknowledged. When Emma was born prematurely, he was a counselor in the bishopric of the Cupertino Ward -- a ward I had not belonged to for several years, but he urged ward members to fast for my baby.
I cherish the photos I have of him holding Rachel and Caroline as newborns. I will never forget his gentle voice to me this past summer, "Well DR, tell me what you are doing in NY." I didn't register it until now that when I invited them to New York, Pat said she would come, but Jim just shook his head. He was saying goodbye. I was just unready to hear it.
I never heard him angry or unkind. He paid attention to the details of my life -- and in doing so, let me know that I was important and that he cared. I believe he was like that with everyone.
Going to Phoenix for his funeral seems a small thank you to such a great man. I will miss JP.
3 comments:
When I saw JP I thought maybe it was about my husband.
Sorry to hear about your friend.
Have a good trip.
I'm so sorry for your loss Denise, please share those memories with his family, I know that they would love to hear how he touched your life.
I miss him too.
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