On Saturday night, while I was out enjoying the company of good friends in Denver, a very dear friend of my family’s was rushed to the hospital after complaints of stomach and back pain. He died the following night. Jack Drumb was the second half of my other set of parents growing up. Our families were neighbors in Buffalo, NY from when I was age 0 to 11, and we attended the same neighborhood church during those years and for many afterward. They have a daughter, who’s a few years older than me, named Kimberly also.
I received the news seconds after I hit the “publish” button on this blog’s last post. I cried a little less hard when I heard, through the phone, the many familiar voices of my extended family–they had all come to comfort Jack and each other, as family do in such times. I was later told that as he passed, in the company of those who loved him, a content, peaceful smile came to his face.
When I was a young girl, I remember peering out of my parents’ dining room window into Jack’s and his wife’s kitchen. I could barely reach my eyes above the sill, so often I’d have to hop up into a chair to get a good look. Jack was usually there in the mornings, as I waited for my mom or dad to take me to nursery school, sitting at his table, reading the morning paper, drinking his coffee. He’d wave at me, eyes bright, and I’d wave back. When I got older, if my parents ever had to wonder why I wasn’t running around the house making a racket, it was because I was next door dancing or singing to my heart’s content in the Drumb’s living room instead.
When I grew into a young adult, Jack became a source of inspiration as well. As a young man, Jack enlisted in the Navy and served in Vietnam; he had never finished college, but always wanted to. Finally, in his late 40′s, he enrolled in college, earning his bachelor’s and master’s degrees at the University of Buffalo. He went on to administrate the largest rehabilitation center and homeless shelter in Buffalo. On most days, when I think back to why I’ve stayed in school despite the challenges, I believe that Jack’s encouragement and urging for me to finish what I started helped me see beyond any disappointments I’ve faced. When I’d come home for holidays and vacations, I was more afraid of disappointing him with a bad grade or poor effort than I was of the failure itself. You see, his standard of achievement was one of the many that made me believe it could be done, no matter what. I could imagine him saying, the only thing that would stop me is if I gave up. I wanted him to be in the crowd watching me as I walked across the stage, as much as my mom and dad. I wanted him to be proud of me too. And deep down, because I stuck with it, I think he was. The memory of him will be close in my heart always, but especially on that day.
You are deeply loved and greatly missed, Jack.
