Diamond Jim weighs heavily on my heart. My now-former accountant, Jim and I became friends through some unusual circumstances. It ended up with a letter to the Arizona Board of Accountancy and another simultaneous letter to the Arizona Attorney General's Office on his behalf. I didn't write either with the intention of going to bat with Diamond Jim--in fact, he didn't even know until it was done that I had written the letters. Both letters were in protest to the way those around him were treating his business and subsequently, my tax files. But it was the beginning of a long friendship, that included getting to know his two kids and Marty and Buck even flying up to Oregon one May to help him retrieve his worldly belongings in a Uhaul.
I have helped Diamond Jim with three real estate transactions. They were all different categories of nightmare. In fact, it is because of the first house sale I got to know his son Junior. I spoke with him on the second occasion when Diamond Jim bought another home a few years later. Neither were good experiences. On his third sale, Junior ended up with a Power of Attorney to handle his father's real estate sale. It made the process much saner than the other two. Sorta.
Aging has gotten the best of Diamond Jim and, though he has yet to be diagnosed because of his own stubbornness, it is obvious to the rest of the world his memory isn't what it used to be. In fact, the last time I spoke with him at great length he was blurring the lines between reality and delusion. In the past few months, Junior has regaled me of his own stories that make me think Planet Diamond Jim is a lot more fun a place than the real world.
When Diamond Jim went to sell his last home it was because he was moving into an assistive care facility. He went with his feet dragging and all the hellfire and vinegar he could muster. And trust me. There was hellfire. He was mad at his children, his life choices and his realtor. I haven't spoken to him since last May when he got ugly with me and then pulled a completely nasty stunt.
I think about him often and I stay in touch with Junior. I think sometimes Junior is just relieved to have someone to vent his parental frustrations to. However, he has advised me not to contact his father. Apparently, Diamond Jim hasn't forgiven me for "stealing" his money. I didn't steal money from him. When his house sold, the mortgage was paid off. That's where his money went. Or, the way Junior has explained my existence, "Half the time he doesn't remember you and the other half of the time he is angry with you because you took his money and his house,"
This week was Diamond Jim's birthday, and I sent a note to Junior asking how his father was. Turns out, the e-mail arrived in his inbox at the exact same moment he was on the phone with the Mesa Police Department. Diamond Jim had walked into a home he bought back in 1989. The current owners weren't happy with him and Diamond Jim certainly wasn't happy to have other people living in "his" home. Unfortunately, the police let Jim go and did not hospitalize him, so Junior still doesn't have any way to properly get Diamond Jim the help he needs.
It is disheartening to see my once-brilliant friend struggle and go down this path. It is frustrating to be helpless and be able to do nothing to help ease his suffering. The guilt of not contacting him bothers me too. I would like to think of myself as a more compassionate person. Maybe compassion is staying away so Diamond Jim can work these things out for himself. Marty and Junior have pointed out compassion might just mean insulating myself from Diamond Jim and his subsequent unpredictable behaviors. I will never know. I will say though, the friendship I have struck up with Junior and his sister have been a wonderful byproduct.
No comments:
Post a Comment