On February 15th, around 1:40 in the morning, my stepdad passed away after a long battle with Lewy Body dementia. Lewy Body is a progressive disease, so the outcome was largely foretold and the main unknown was the exact timing.
My biological dad died from lung cancer when I was 12, so in a lot of ways Jim ended up being the primary father figure in my life. And I’m not sure where I’d be if not for his influence. For example, when I was young, I was generally anxious, painfully shy and largely avoided other humans. I refused to eat much besides peanut butter and jam sandwiches and disliked most food. My dad was a little too laissez-faire, Jim was more proactive.
I remember he made me sit at the table until I finished my chunky soup. I cried a bunch (I was probably like 8, ha ha), but I ate that soup. And now today, the only food I truly hate is olives.
He also made me start talking to people. I would have to call restaurants to make reservations, golf courses to make tee times, and so on. And what do you know, I ended up coming out of my shell, and became a reasonably functional human bean (pun intended, one of his favourites). It was basic exposure therapy, but it worked.
He was determined and sometimes bull-headed, which led him down many different paths. Most famously, he formed Operation Dismantle to oppose nuclear proliferation, and if you were Canadian and watching or listening to the news in the late 70s and 80s, there’s a good chance you saw him on your TV. More recently, he was focused on his own vision of world federalism, where his idealism led him down a path well before its time.
I hadn’t seen him since 2014, due to my own illness (agoraphobia/fear of traveling), and then his progressing dementia. I’ll always regret my part in that, but it is what it is. We grew apart for a few years there, and then the Lewy Bodies made it impossible to build much on the foundation afterwards. He had a hard time relating to my mental issues, which are apparently too complicated to be solved by exposure therapy alone. He never really understood the trash picking either. I think he doubted the long-term viability of it, which is fair. Only in recent years do I think, without a doubt, that I’ve proven that making an ok living doing this is possible. But by that time, his brain wasn’t working so well anymore.
He always loved owls and had a nice collection of miniatures. I sold him a bunch more several years back, when I found a nice collection on the curb. His brain was starting to go around then, so I’m not sure the headspace he was in when he decided to buy them. Maybe he just liked the owls, or maybe he just wanted to connect. Regardless, I’ll soon inherit a few of my favourites, as well as some other stuff. Dealing with someone’s possessions can be overwhelming, which is partly why some of it ends up in the trash (even when it’s treasure), but I think our family knows how to deal with it in the best way possible.
Anyways, he could be a pain in the arse sometimes, but no one could dispute his passion and his dedication to the betterment of humanity as a whole. He didn’t like religion and didn’t believe in heaven, but I’m more of an agnostic. Who knows, maybe some part of him is still out there, and hopefully he’s proud of what comes next for both me and humanity (even if it’s looking a little bleak right now).














