Roll back a few years in history, make that nearly 20, and I was in art school in New York, and with my first boyfriend Robert, still waking up about my sexuality and other things of adulthood. As a California native, my family was far away, but Robert’s family instantly accepted me and embraced me. For 6 and a half years, he and I were never open about our relationship to his parents, but later, after it had ended, we found out that we were fooling no one. It really didn’t matter one way or another, as I always have felt a strong love from Jim and Maggie, as family. We spent countless weekends in their home in suburban New Jersey, combing yard sales, grilling hamburgers, telling stories, and just spending a quiet time in an oasis away from the city.

Being that his parents were 40 years older than Robert, they were already retired when I met them. Maggie has an engaging colorful personality. Well, a charming nuttiness, maddening to Robert at times, but a person completely unmasked. Jim was a World War II navy veteran and had recently retired as chief of the local fire department when I first met him. Both never traveled farther than a few hundred miles from home, but Jim told stories about his days in the Pacific with the merchant marines and before that growing up in Long Island City, Queens, as the son of Irish immigrants. And he and I shared many glasses of Jim Beam.

Robert and I were also partners in art, and our collaborative work was well received. We were graduating with honors from the School of Visual Arts in Manhattan in 1990, but shrugged off attending the graduation to receive that recognition. Instead we went to Europe for a few weeks. In Ireland, we looked for the home of Jim’s parents or grandparents. Along the way we were received generously by members of his family, and made our way to an out-of-the-way corner in th northwest, crisscrossing the infamous border with Northern Ireland, guarded by soldiers with large canons. Incredibly verdant and beautiful, the countryside that is. We arrived at what appeared to be an ancient ruin, a stone house that was once the home of James McCormack’s family. After returning to New York (and New Jersey) we had stories to share with Robert’s parents on the front porch in the evening with the familiar concert of cicades and crickets in the background.

I have not been as close touch with Robert and his family for several years, but chat with Robert at times, and occasionally visit his folks in New Jersey. (Nothing has changed in that house.) Back when Robert and I were together, Jim had successfully battled throat cancer, not from smoking but from fire-fighting. Robert has been out of touch for a while, and I found just a couple weeks ago why. His dad has not been doing so well, due to his heart and other complications, and Robert has been his full-time care-giver. Well, just last Thursday evening James Michael McCormack passed away. I am thousands of miles away from New Jersey, but I miss Jim.