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Mr Jimi Fix-It

Mr Jimi Fix-It

Readers:   I write as a means to fully go through the grieving process and not leave it stuck inside me festering.   I write because it helps me.   I hope and intend it helps others too.   I know there will be judgement and I apologize if my words challenge.   I realize most choose to be private.    I am carefully and delicately working through the process like an open book.   That is my way!

Dear Jimi,

Maybe it is time for me to relax my apparent, sticky lack of self confidence.  After all, you must “see” things in different perspective now – I can only assume!?   

Jimi, you were such a  strong, solid and self-assured guy.  And you were tough too!  You knew what you knew and you knew what you didn’t.   You likened your knowledge and know-how to your work on helicopters…if you got it wrong, the helicopter would crash.   Everything you did was with a “life or death” approach.   So, everything you did was as perfect as could be.   

I have a much different way…I tend to crash through things mending with band-aids.   I can get things to sorta work until they don’t again.   But, I try.

I remember the worry and concern of upsetting you if I told you something needed fixing.   I stressed over telling you as I didn’t want to stress you.  The silly head games.   I often felt if something went wrong, I might be deemed at   fault.  I wondered if I should “just do it” but realized if I bandage it, you would be annoyed.   I admit I would do that sometimes without you knowing. And, I appreciated you so much in this regard.   You were the perfect fix-it man and I was a lucky lady.

I am obviously in some silly mind-games right now.  I realize, now you are gone, I don’t need to attempt for you to understand “me” anymore.  I can’t inform you of the brokens or ask for your help.  And, I also know you are in a space and state where you are no longer stressed and you have a deeper knowledge.  You are probably laughing at me.     

So, things are breaking.   I realized the water pressure was low  and then discovered the water pipe burst.    I had to go to town and the car wouldn’t start.  The stove ignitor is broken.  The weed-wacker is in the hospital room and needs a part not available here in Ecuador.   All reminders of how much I need you.    But, you know I am a gal who follows the same troubleshooting as you.  I toddled along to fix these things and make them right.  For sure, we have that in common….our dad’s clipped our clothes in the same fashion.   

I think you adored this about me and you also abhorred it.   It was your role to do this – the Mr Fix It guy.  In some ways you were Mr Perfect Fix It.    And, you would often “pft” at my fixing attempts.  Now I have to do it because you are gone!  When I see something broken or not working right I want it right too.   I am sure you and dad are laughing at me.    I am sure dad is telling you “I taught her that”.

When you received calls or emails asking for your help to fix something, you first mode of operandi was to complain.  I am not sure why.   Maybe you thought people were at fault for things breaking.  Maybe that is true some of the time.   But I also felt you had the idea most people were stupid.   For that reason, I sunk away from telling you what needed to be done around our space as I didn’t want to add to your list and stress you out or be “stupid” myself.   It is crazy really – such a crazy dynamic we had.   We were both so independent together.   

I also know you were most happiest element when people “needed” you.  The irony was that people who needed you were also the possible “stupids”.   The duality dual of Jimi!  And, you had a degree of respect for people who would at very least “try”.   I remember so many times at social and family gatherings, a part, piece or object was placed in front of you.  You’d flip glasses down and click into the helicopter program, squinting your eyebrows and be in  “fixing” mode. It was your element.   Everybody loved you for that.  I did!  It was very attractive to me.

But now, you are gone and things need fixing.   Some were here when you were ill and I didn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t bring them into your focus.  It was too painful.   But rest assured I will try.   The lesson is empowerment.   And, if I can’t do it, google and dear friends will help me!

We had some very close moments before you left that expressed your appreciation of me and who I am.    I am eternally grateful for those sharings and moments.  I can’t hear you anymore but I am sure you can hear me.   I ask for your help.   This process is messy.   A wise one just shared with me that there is strength in asking for others to create and hold the scaffolding around me for a while.   One moment I am okay.  The next is deep darkness.     And while I know I have a strong independence, I need help and that scaffolding structure around me.  it is a fine line and a dance that is difficult.   

And, finally, I will get the truck painted and Chamico offered to help.   It was the one thing that really wanted to see done before you left.   I am pretty sure Chamico will help me care for your truck now…and I will take care that it is cared for.  Promise!   

But, I will be calling out to you every time something breaks.   What would Jimi do?   What would dad do?    


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