This reminder brings the deepest of painful sighs. I am still devastated that Jim slipped our grip--our loving, fascinated, devoted grip. Loss cannot begin to capture this. My perception of life and death doesn't allow for the chance you can feel or hear me now, Jim, nor I you. But it is still helpful to remember, to visit the grief and wrongness of our cavernous loss.

I dreamed about Jim last night. In the dream, it was snowing gently and we were outdoors, and he was handing me and my partner (who he never had a chance to meet) Christmas gifts, wrapped in white and gold. All three of us seemed so happy to be there, Jim with his characteristic thousand-watt smile. I woke up this morning and realized today is his birthday. I have heard the expression "may his memory be a blessing" over the years, but I don't think I really understood it until now.

A year of 'firsts' without him. I can't begin to imagine. As a family you've suffered through the valleys and, thankfully, shared some miracles like the birth of a new family member. Praying on this day you know God's love in some new dimension as you experience our "God of all comfort". We love you.

Jim, you were smart as a whip to the point that I felt intimidated trying to talk to you in school, but you were so modest about the intelligence and talents God gave you and you always made time to talk to me. I remember the day you suffered a migraine during finals and were facing a possible zero on a final you'd missed...I could still kick myself for wussing out instead of standing up and speaking out on your behalf. It worked out for you as I recall, but I still should've spoken up.
On another occasion, you saw I was reading Maya Angelou and you said you loved her stuff and wanted to live the amazing type of life she did. Here's hoping you got to do that, my friend. I'm so glad you got some of your writing published; that's awesome. And I'm sorry I missed them earlier, but your writings about your struggles with MH issues were nothing short of inspiring, from someone who's been there herself.
Unrelated and entirely coincidental, but my youngest son is a James Daniel too. :)

I met Jim as a high school student at PA Governor's School for the Arts in 1995. We became fast friends and visited each other despite living at nearly opposite ends of the state - our parents obligingly drove us huge distances. I can't even remember why, but we had some joke about Spam - neither of us had eaten it (or at least I hadn't) but we thought it was hilarious. That year for Christmas, Jim painstakingly hollowed out a Spam can and decorated it with day-glo puffy paint and made it into a tree ornament. My family still hangs it on our tree every year. Jim, the world misses your fierce joy and brilliant humor, your courage and your inimitable you-ness.

I have known Jim when we were kids. Just found out the sad news! My heart goes out to the family and I am heartbroken for you! Hugs and prayers for you all!

Dave, Ann, and Family, This is heartbreaking news. I knew Jim only briefly, but it's obvious from his obituary that the passing of such a gifted man is a terrible loss to the world, not just his family. "No man is an island," surely expresses this truth. Our Erie music world shares your grief and remembers you and your family for your generous spirit and the talent that enriched our lives. With my prayers, Marjorie

Dave, Ann, and Family, This is heartbreaking news. I knew Jim only briefly, but it's obvious from his obituary that the passing of such a gifted man is a terrible loss to the world, not just his family. "No man is an island," surely expresses this truth. Our Erie music world shares your grief and remembers you and your family for your generous spirit and the talent that enriched our lives. With my prayers, Marjorie

I didn’t know you, Jim. But having read these heartfelt tributes, I would have liked to. However, I know your Mom and Dad. I sit behind them every Sunday in church. Your father: brilliant, kind, frightfully talented, generous and real. Your mom: Genuine, brave, courageous, inspiring, also kind and caring. And I have heard them speak of their great love for you, their cherished son.

Beamish boy, I am overwhelmed with grief. I join others in despair at losing you, but rejoice that I knew you. Our connection was immediate and strong, I was wowed by your wit and great gifts as a poet, and warmed by your friendship. Scrabble, shared language, poetry, silliness. Distance and time have changed none of my love and respect for you -- in fact, in recent years, your courage has deepened both. So I will keep you in my mind and heart forever, and reach out to your family -- so loved by you -- with my own kind of prayer, the memory and the knowing of you, a small bit of shared grief for this heartbreak. --Meg

I wanted to write something worthy of our friend Jim, but who could possibly capture the brilliance, the humor, the tongue-in-cheek wisdom of Jim, somehow always equal parts self-deprecation and swagger? Besides, Jim was the writer. So, here’s the last line of Jim’s short story ‘Proper Usage’ c. 1995: ‘as we floated up, out, and away, I looked down and saw our old little selves give tiny waves of good-bye, almost as if aware we were leaving them behind and going someplace new.’ I love you forever, dear friend.

I will forever remember Jim and cherish our close friendship growing up and throughout high school. His enviable intelligence, wit, looks; his ability to fight the good fight through words and intellect...and Jim just being Jim. He brought out the best in me, and the troublemaker in me too. In fact, I think we could relate to each other in many ways, sometimes without really knowing or acknowledging. I wish we could have been out to each other then. I think our friendship would have been quite different, even stronger through the years. I will forever regret not being more in touch since in ways that could have mattered. To the Stuntz family, you're in my thoughts and want you to know I have always admired Jim and what he's contributed to the world. He will always be in my heart and on my mind.

To Mama Stuntz and the whole Stuntz family. I am so sorry to hear about your loss. Jim is an amazing young man, whom I will always remember with great fondness. I wish all of you the best in these tough times. Jim is a super person.

Thank you for all the ways you were perfectly you. I always felt better with you on my team, in my class, and as my friend. You with your gentle spirit, your gifted creativity, your acerbic wit, your long and unfair eyelashes, the way you crafted words, your smirky smile, your quiet bravery.

Your wit, your wisdom, your unfaltering kindness to all, your brilliance of mind and loving heart brought joy, hope, and the desire to be better than in some cases we were...So honored to have known you...so honored to have been your teacher and too to have learned so very much from you along the way...Rest easy, Jim...

One of the great joys of teaching is having a student who inspires you! One of the sorrows of teaching is having to say goodbye to that student. We will always miss you dear Jimmy. Our hearts hold you every day. 

I guess we should expect such a brilliant mind to cast some shadows. I loved Jim--as a boy and as a youth and as a man. I loved his wit and sarcasm--evidenced by his creation of a sort of underground church newsletter called the Wesley Witless where he gave me the name Ima P. Nutt. I loved his determination to speak his mind and his heart. I loved laughingly being his "matron of the arts" and having him autograph the pieces of writing he gave me to read. On my refrigerator hangs the cartoon he sent me a few years ago portraying an older couple sitting at opposite ends of the couch with the caption "This summer we decided to stay at home and complain." Jim, you knew me well. I so wish you could have lived an easier life. Thank you for blessing mine--Love, Ima