Happy New Year! I hope the year is off to a great start for you.

I was all set to send you a newsletter with a bunch of inspiration and resources for the New Year, but I’m going to delay that a week, because I want to share something a bit more reflective first.

There’s soooo much emphasis (this time of year especially) on hitting goals and meeting milestones and achieving things, and while I appreciate all of that, there’s something else I’d like to remember. Something that I believe is more important.

For context: I’ve been writing this newsletter long enough that from time to time, my stories are about people in my life who have passed away. This is one of those stories. But it’s not morose. In fact, I’m hoping you’ll be able to take today’s newsletter as a little dose of inspiration for the year ahead.

It’s about my Uncle Jimmy, who passed away in November.

My Uncle (my mother’s brother) was a really special person. He was born special: he had a severe intellectual disability that meant he was significantly limited and required constant care.

Jimmy (aka Donald James Fordham) was born in 1952, at a time when “care” for people with disabilities like his was far from caring. I wish his experience had been different. Thankfully, care caught up over time and in the past 20 years or so he lived in an incredible group home with some truly amazing, loving personal support workers. His PSWs changed his life, and everyone in my family is so grateful for them.

Jimmy knew each and every member of his family and loved all of us. He was always thrilled to see us, and when we weren’t together, he enjoyed looking at photos. Jimmy waited all year for Christmas, his favourite holiday. At his 70th birthday we had a big family gathering, and I’d never seen him so happy.

Because of his disability, Jimmy did not discriminate. He loved unconditionally. How many of us can truly, genuinely say that? He was childlike in many ways, making him pure of heart. Jimmy did not care what you looked like, what your job was, how much money you made, whether you were ticking the boxes of what life is supposed to look like. He was just happy to see you (and maybe hoping you’d make him a coffee or buy him a Coke.) That was it.

*Image: Jimmy, always a fan of dessert.*

Jimmy was loud and awkward but he was also funny and gentle. His empathy and cleverness could surprise you. He was so much more than people but might realize if they didn’t give him a chance. But he won most people over within minutes with his friendliness and enthusiasm.

When I was a little kid, I was nervous around Jimmy. But I learned from him pretty quickly. He taught me the importance of looking beyond appearances and first impressions. He taught me not to be afraid of people who are different from you. He taught me the value of loving people just as they are. He taught me that kindness and patience can matter more than you think.

*Image: Jimmy, feeding one of my baby cousins back in the day.*

A little while ago, someone shared a quote with me: Build your eulogy, not your resume.

I’ve been thinking about that as I set my goals and think about my approach to the year ahead. Of course, many of us need—and take great satisfaction in—building resumes, portfolios, bucket lists and the like. But let’s not forget about the bigger picture as we go.

Jimmy was never going to have a resume. (Though he did enjoy vacuuming my dad’s office as a part time “job”.) But his eulogy, along with all the stories we shared at the funeral gathering, was about love and kindness. Appreciation of the small things. Compassion, patience, empathy. Humour. The things that Jimmy embodied and taught us throughout his life. A life that wasn’t easy, but a life that was well-lived in its own way.

Jimmy would never have a resume. But he had the most beautiful eulogy.

Thanks for reading. I hope the year ahead brings you many meaningful moments to remember.