The mysterious decline of lima beans

Losing a friend is one of the hardest parts of life. It can't be avoided. But even when the passage of years has made the tally of friends lost longer, it still strikes painfully home. This weekend the obituaries included a brief note on the death of James Clay Pomeroy, who had been 'Jimmy Pomeroy' four decades ago. He died, suddenly, of a heart attack while with his family, playing with his children. The notice hurt like a slap in the face. The black and white, somewhat somber photo included seemed so inadequate to portray who he was. And he was too young, not even 54, to die. My mind flooded with memories. Mostly though, I had a picture in my head of Jim as a teenager whose smile was contagious. It started around his eyes which laughed even before his mouth would purse upward with humor. He laughed a lot. Jim was actually first the friend of my friend, Rick Sugg, but accepted me into a mischievous trio. As freshman and sophomores, we ran through Halloween nights together in a neighborhood that had a tradition of wildness. Pelting cars and other groups with raw eggs was one of the milder activities. I remember we met at the big cherry tree on Strohecker's path to swig down babyfood jars filled with various alcoholic beverages filched from refrigerators and liquor cabinets. I remember another night when the three of us walked two miles through a heavy shroud of late summer fog at three am to Council Crest. Adventures. Jim was an excellent artist, among other talents. When we were closer to the end of high school, he took over from me making posters for the 9th St. Exit Coffeehouse in the basement of a southeast Portland church. They were good posters. I still have a couple. Being a grownup, a parent, a husband, a worker- all these things often conspire to distance us from the friends of our youth. In Portland we are lucky because, even at a little distance, people still bump into each other and have small snapshots of each others' lives. Recent years were like that with Jim. He had a landscaping business and his family. Mostly I had the sense that he was happy. So when I read of his death, I was a little heartbroken. And sad that I had not said goodbye. I think he knew I still thought of him as a friend though. And I envy, a little, the character of his dying- to be with family and not to suffer long. To be in a moment of happiness. I say a prayer for his journey in the other life. I will miss him.