To my friend, Jim Rowberry (April 5 1979 — April 3 2016)
Jim, I met you through some friends, Johnny and Hillary Taylor. They mentioned a childhood friend from California was moving from Utah to Colorado and we should be on the lookout for them. When I first met you at church I think you quoted something from Stephen Covey and the 7 Habits and I knew we were going to be friends :)
Jim, you are loud, and that’s okay. You made church fun. At first I was a little leery that you had just moved from Utah and may have had a little too much “Utah” rub off on you ;) . But as I got to know you I found you to be completely real, authentic, vulnerable and fair. Even when discussing the most controversial subjects, you always had the most down to earth and insightful answers. And of course you said them in a completely loving, non judging way. While you are an emotional guy, you are also extremely logical (which I loved). You strengthened my faith using logic and reason during some challenging times.
Over the years we became good friends through many dates and dinners and family gatherings.
I remember playing freeze tag with our kids on the golf course. It was 2 vs 7 and after hustling to tag all the kids in under two minutes we were both gasping and you said “this is the most sprinting I’ve ever done, I think I’m going to puke.”
We went on lots of double or group dates. I remember being happy when you were riding in my car because I could just sit back and relax and laugh. You are always entertaining and making things fun. I remember a particular night where I was a little under the weather and we went to look at Christmas lights. You could tell I wasn’t feeling well and I was withdrawing from the conversation. You leaned over and said “don’t worry, you just relax and I’ll cover for you”
We did an “Escape Room” with you and another couple. After swirling through all the clues and working to figure things out we barely solved the puzzle before the timer ran out. (You were the one who figured out that we had to attach the shoelaces to the magnet to grab the key). You noticed how blessed were with education and exclaimed “well if the 6 of us couldn’t figure that out then we need to give back our diplomas.”
I remember last Father’s day where Tara and the kids happened to be out of town and you invited me over by myself for Sunday dinner so I could be around family for father’s day.
You loved to serve. You were the first to don a “hair net” and volunteer at Kids Against Hunger to help package meals for less fortunate children. When the Boulder Floods hit we found an old home of a sweet elderly couple that had been completely flooded. It became our project and we completely gutted the inside. You had a smile on your face the entire time you had a crowbar and a sledge hammer.
We rented Peddi Bikes with a group in Denver’s Washington park and we raced around the park together, of course with sweet baby Luke strapped to your or Sarah’s chest the entire time.
And I’ll never forget the Parade of lights where you lugged tiny children, 5 lawn chairs, and towers of blankets through the frozen streets of downtown Denver. And then of course Sarah pulls out a thermos of steaming hot chocolate for everyone because she’s Sarah. Some of the kids were whining and screaming from the cold, but you were completely cool and having fun. We had a hard time tracking down a suitable place for dinner because it was too crowded, but it wasn’t phasing you. At one point we went up an escalator and Claire’s shoe got stuck in the top of the escalator. You immediately sprung into action and hurled yourself at Claire and pulled her free from the danger, very serious at the time and then laughing afterwards.
You read the story of “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” at our church Christmas party much to the delight and glee of all the surrounding children. Max played the part of the Grinch’s reindeer and Jane was Cindy Lou Who.
We just spent the last New Years eve together, along with the Fryers, streaming the “ball drop” from New York at 10PM so we could go home and put kids to bed. Immediately after the ball dropped I saw Sarah walk over to you and give you and kiss and tell you that she loved you.
And of course Pie Face. You were so thrilled with the game Pie Face not because it was actually fun, but because of Jane’s wild terror and crazy concern for not wanting you to get a “pie in the face”. You laughed and then said that from then on whenever Jane needed gentle correcting you would suggest “do it OR ELSE PIE FACE”.
I am happy to be your family’s home teacher. At first I was confused as to why they would assign your good friend and your next door neighbor to be your home teacher but now it is obvious. I remember a particular time when we were sharing a lesson and you were standing in the front of the room. Jane was running circles around you, around and in and out of your legs. You finally caught her on the inside of your leg. Jane got an evil smile on her face and then opened her mouth wide and bit you HARD right on the soft part of the inside of your leg. You YELPED loudly and for half a second you had a look of anger like Jane was going to get it. Jane looked up in terror at what she had done. But only for half a second. Your face immediately softened and you laughed loudly at Jane and you grabbed her and you hugged her and called her a “crazy girl”.
Oh how you love her and love to chase her. I can still hear you in my head exclaim “Jane!”. I can also hear the special “whistle” you used to summon your children. I’m not sure it worked as well as you thought it did, but it was cute and the kids did seem to at least understand that they were supposed to be gathering.
You loved to tell your kids stories about your life and talk to them about spiritual things. Each night you would tell them a story about when you were a kid and then you would tickle Max’s back. Your kids know so many of your stories. Every time they were in my car I would learn so much about your life because everything reminded them of you. They recite your stories from heart and are so proud to tell them. I also remember you sharing that you were driving with Max who was looking out the window and you just asked “so Max, what do you think about Heavenly Father?” This turned into a great discussion and was an example to me of what I can talk to my kids about.
We watched the Bronco’s win the super bowl at the Toy’s house just 5 days before we found out you had cancer. Even with all your work and family responsibilities you always seemed to know what was going on with sports.
After we found out you had cancer, I’ll never forget our last double date (in this life). We walked through Union Station, up and down stairs, you never uttering a single complaint even though surely you were winded due to the fluid surrounding your lungs. Of course we talked about cancer, but you kept the conversation mostly focused on others. You were genuinely interested with my occupation and loved to ask questions about the inner workings of the company. We played shuffleboard (laughing at the drunk wedding guests and the kid with an ice cream cone as big as his head), we laughed, we had a great time, we ate great food, and we ended the night closer.
I saw you right before you left to Houston for treatment and right when you returned. I saw that even while your body quickly declined your spirits and faith were always high. I felt so lucky and blessed that I got to be with you in those moments. You loved teaching the youth. I remember the Priests and Deacons bringing the sacrament to your house, possibly your last in this life. They set up a table cloth over your piano bench. Even in your declining health, you wanted to take the time to talk to the young men who were performing the ordinance. You talked to them about the symbolism of the white table cloth. Tears immediately came to your eyes. You blamed the hormones from the tumor, but I think it was because your love of the Savior was so close to the surface.
I saw you the night before you passed from this life. We watched the Priesthood session of General Conference together and ate a “magic cup” (an ice cream concoction that was high in calories and protein). I remember you fighting to not throw up, yelling in your hoarse voice “Come on, come on you can do this”. You did throw up and then afterward I was ready to throw in the towel and stop eating and move on to resting. You wouldn’t have anything of it. You said, “No, come on let’s power through this!” and you finished the whole cup.
You perked up for about an hour and started joking with Dan and I. The nurse gave you a shot. You didn’t even flinch. I said you were really tough. Dan said it was from all the heroin use :) You laughed and joined in on the joke. Then we mocked the DVD selection of chick flicks available (Thanks Sam ;)) and finished watching the NCAA final four, and of course you knew exactly what was going on and who was who. You said your bracket wasn’t doing well.
When more guests arrived I patted you on the shoulder, told you I loved you and said I would see you tomorrow. You said “Love you man.”
Jim, as Erica stated in the funeral, you had no fear which allowed you to have perfect love for people. And this quote from Jack London relayed by your good friend Don describes your life perfectly:
I would rather be ashes than dust!
I would rather that my spark should burn out
in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot.
I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom
of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.
The function of man is to live, not to exist.
I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them.
I shall use my time.
You certainly affected everyone’s life for the better. Because of you, I am so much better. Jim, “I love you man.”
This video was shown at Jim’s funeral. Also in that same Facebook group there are memories from the hundreds of people who were better because of Jim.
If you haven’t already, please consider giving to this fund benefitting Jim’s wife Sarah and their 5 children.
