Lifted

My memories of James are mainly of him supporting a small child on his shoulders or carrying one on his back, (sometimes both). He would often be lifting someone down from something high up, smiling and without fear or anxiety that they might jump and face a potential injury. Or, he’d be pushing them on a swing that would have almost definitely been hanging from a tree, near the sea, or over a muddy stream. Lockdown walks were all the better because we knew James would remain calm in all weathers, and with the kids, who covered in mud, would inevitably need carrying, dragging or persuading to the next landmark on the walk. I saw how children clung to James like fridge magnets. He was safe and he was peaceful and he could hold a lot.

I often sat with James by the poolside whilst kids swam lengths, put dry clothes on their wet bodies or threw goggles into the air aiming to land them on ceiling beams. In that airless humid room we talked a lot about work, ideas and plans. I would feel my stress melt away as our conversations steered away from the mundane practical life-grind topics, and onto exciting, impossible concepts and dreams, that somehow James made seem quite feasible. I noticed how he seemed so comfortable with uncertainty, and patient about unknowns. We sometimes puzzled about things and tried to find meaning and perspectives in our chats, which never failed to lift me. I loved that actually making sense of things wasn’t so important to James, but that he was willing to explore difficult things and wonder about them without ever needing more than that. Importantly, I always felt seen, heard and understood in those conversations, I think everyone did who spent time with James. He really listened, and I loved his honesty when things were not so great too. It made me feel more normal, never judged. Just accepted.

Thanks for the walks and poolside chats James, for how you lifted us all, and for how you always will. x