In Memory of James Stewart

I'd like to dedicate this post to my dear friend James who recently passed away on August 11, 2010. As I type this, I struggle to find the right words, as his death has brought such sadness to those who loved him. James was a beautiful person and the life of the party. "The mayor of St. Michaels" as we liked to call him, he knew everyone and everything.

I have known James for almost 12 years. I've always known him as my mom's friend, but as I've gotten older, our relationship started to mean more. James was apart of the family, I looked up to him like an uncle. An uncle with incredible fashion sense and a great appetite. I remember he bought me a book when I was in middle school titled "How to be a Lady," his sneaky way of telling me to stop being such a brat.

I'll miss you James. Thanks for all of the great memories. Thanks for all of the fashion and dating advice. Thanks for your smile and great sense of humor. I'll miss you at the dinner table, and in the flower shop. I'll miss your gossip and bouncy, beautiful hair. I'll miss you and Bruce cooking pork products frantically in the kitchen. I'll miss trips to Annapolis to eat at Five Guys (who knew mayo and A1 could be such a glorious combination?) I'll miss digging in Marshalls for hours with you and mom (he always found the best stuff!) I'll miss you and Bruce keeping me up at night arguing about politics.

Thanks for turning my slob of a brother into a fashionista. And thank you for being such a dear friend to my mom.

Thanks for your support and encouragement when I moved to Korea. Thanks for making my months at home after college a lot more memorable. Thanks for always being there for me. And thanks for always making me believe I was beautiful and worthy (and most importantly, wouldn't become a cat lady). Whenever I have guy trouble, your voice will be in my head saying, "Just move on, sister!"

St. Michaels will not be the same without it's mayor. James, you were loved by so many. We will all miss you dearly, and I will never forget your laugh. Your laugh lit up the room.