In the small hours of Saturday night James Joyner’s wife, Kim, died in her sleep. She had not, apparently, been ill. No one knew of any life-threatening condition. At this point the cause of her death is not known.
I can’t imagine James’s shock and dismay when he woke to find his wife dead or, possibly, came to bed late (as I frequently do) to find her dead. James has not revealed these intimate details and I would not expect him to. He did leave one poignant observation in the post he left and to which I linked above: his regret that their two little daughters, just three years of age and five months, respectively, would in all likelihood have little or no recollection of their mother.
His decision to post even the briefest of posts under these sad circumstances is testimony to the role that his blog, Outside the Beltway, has played in his life. Those who post at OTB, like Doug Mataconis, Steven Taylor, Alex Knapp, and the others as well as those who comment regularly there are his friends, his neighborhood, his tribe. The large number of comments left on his post by well-wishers are a testament to the regard in which they and we hold James and our shock at the loss he has experienced.
What can one say under circumstances like this? Everything seems inadequate, sadly hollow. Suffice it to say that my condolences go out to James and his family.
Eternal grant unto her, O Lord, and may perpetual light shine upon her. I recognize that doesn’t conform with James’s beliefs but it does with mine and that’s the best I can offer.
God or somebody bless them. Yesterday they had life by the tail.
If you talk with James, pass along our best wishes.
Steve
Her daughters may not know her but her absence will have a huge impact in their lives. Kids are different, they’ll respond as individuals, but I can say that my daughter, though she never knew her birth parents, is still at age almost 12 very emotional about her birth mother in particular. It doesn’t go away. There are fantasies, resentments, questions, and I don’t expect all of that ever to go away. we’ve told ‘the story’ a thousand times in the 8 years we’ve had her. Fortunately in her case we can blame Mao.
Tough, tough stuff coming for James.
I’m actually surprised, Michael. If I’ve got it right, you would have adopted her at about age 4. I certainly have no recollection of parents at age 4. In our Thanksgiving trip to NY we talked alot to our (13) daughter about this that or the other that occurred when we lived out there when she was 1-7 yrs old. No recollection. Are you saying that its really rooted in some deep seated emotion rather than what we would call memory?
Not trying to pry in an unwarranted fashion, but adoption is a very prevalent and important practice. You probably have unique insights.
Memory is a funny thing. I have distinct memories from age 2 onwards. My sister, next in birth order after me, has only the vaguest of recollections including of what she had for breakfast yesterday morning.
I don’t believe that James has any siblings. I don’t know if his wife had any. If this were a century ago and she did, indeed, have siblings, in all likelihood James’s two young daughters would have been given to those siblings to raise as their own.
That exact scenario occurred in my family. I have several cousins, children of my mother’s half-sisters, whom I’ve never met (and one I have). I’ve been trying to explain to them gently that their grandparents aren’t who they thought they were.
I’d think the girls will have sense memories of their mother — her scent, her touch, the vibrations of her voice. And I imagine they’ll feel abandoned.
Drew:
It’s memory constructed out of fantasy alone, and confusion with the ayas (aunties) at the orphanage where yes, she spent 3+ years. It’s not so much missing an actual person as a concept of a mother. So whether or not James’ daughters remember their mother she’ll still have a huge impact on their lives, and he will have to tell the story, his version obviously, many, many times.
“It’s not so much missing an actual person as a concept of a mother.”
Yes, I think I understand – she needs a port to feel comfortable in. And I have no doubt that you and your wife make sure that the concept is fulfilled. BTW – I think what you have done is a wonderful thing.
We have just one. And she is living quite a different upbringing than either my wife or me. And that’s OK. But I remember telling my wife years ago: all the usual child rearing stuff is fine, but I want to make sure she understands in her mind, heart and gut – we love her unconditionally and forever and no matter what. The rest we can work on. Seems to be going OK.
I remain a little shocked by checking into OTB Sunday morning and reading this post. It’s the part about blogging or social-networking that I’m not used to; I felt like I was prying into someone’s diary and I instinctly shut it down and walked away.
Then I returned and wrote a rather flimsy comment in the spirit of tribal loyalty. James somehow found it in himself to write that post before many of us were awake. I can’t imagine. The effort required acknowledgment. For myself, with some feelings of guilt, I held to my family closer on Sunday; for the most part the future is unknown.
Thanks, but it really just shows you the lengths we had to go to to get someone into our family with some athletic ability and fashion sense. Having nailed her junior black belt in Tae Kwon Do she’s moved on to fencing. The rest of us much more into competitive sitting.
Seek out kendo. Much better than fencing and the equipment is light-years cooler. Especially for women. When I was competing there was a woman who competed wearing a snow white gi, white hakama, and flame-red bogu. Very striking. So to speak.
Oh she would love that. The girl loves an outfit.
My god, that must have been horrifying for him (to find his wife dead – he said he called the paramedics at 1 AM I think). That happened to the father of a friend I had growing up – they went to wake him up on a sunday morning for church, and found that he died in his sleep. Some problem with his heart that they didn’t know about.