My Brother Bim

One week ago today, we said a formal goodbye to my brother Vincent Davis Arnold – or Bim, as we called him. He passed away suddenly in January, and this was our first chance to gather as a family and grieve together. We heard so many wonderful stories that captured the unique and wonderful man that was my brother. I had a chance to speak and share a tiny bit of what he has meant to me, over the years. Here’s what I wrote. (Of course, when I shared it, it was slightly different.) 

“As the youngest in the family of the amazing Charlie and Audrey Arnold, I have always looked up to my big brothers. Each one taught me different things. 

The most formal and unsmiling shot of all of us I have seen. 
Back: Bim, Jon, Don, Steve
Front: Jerry, Dad (Charlie), Liz, Mom (Audrey)

Bim always had a knack for storytelling. He could retell the stories of his youth with great detail and vigor. He could also spin a ghost story that would make your bones shiver. I would listen, captivated. Bim never lost that storytelling ability, even when Parkinson’s took so much from him. If I had the capacity to lean in and listen to his softening voice, the stories were all still there, and all still as humorous or occasionally raucous as ever.

As a little girl, I loved spending time with my big brothers. Fishing was one of the ways I could do that. I remember all the bonding that happened in a resort-owned boat on Farm Island Lake. Bim was really good at fishing and especially good at goading others who were not having as good of luck as he was. He would also tell some really good, really long jokes. It seemed like the less the fish were biting, the longer and more convoluted those jokes became.

I was about 11 years old when Bim and Ann came home to the house in Fountain one weekend. They were still dating at the time. I remember that we were eating at the picnic table in the side yard when Bim announced their engagement. Dad fell off the picnic bench, in ‘surprise.’ In reality, no one was surprised that Bim and Ann chose each other. They made an amazing team from the start.

Bim’s spirit of playfulness will be (and has been) well documented by others. His knack of being predictable and yet spontaneous was legendary. You knew a firecracker was coming – but you just never knew exactly when. I loved the challenge of having my camera ready to hopefully catch reactions, not knowing when those reactions would come. 

And travel – for real, I want to learn to travel like Bim and Ann. I’m not sure I’m up to sleeping in the back of a van to save money, but maybe I could give it a try. Oh, the places they went – often with family members. They truly stuffed their eyes with wonder, traveling to places both exotic and pristine.

In all the difficult things life handed Bim over the years – his daughter Jessica’s degenerative condition and eventual death and then his Parkinson’s – Bim did not let those tremendous challenges define him. I’m sure he had times of anger and deep grief, and I’m not ignoring or trivializing that. But he found the strength to do the next thing and keep on living life as fully as he was able. And in these last years, those who loved him did their best to help him keep living his life to the full. A lot of people loved him.

I find it a challenge to think of a world without his playful and adventurous spirit, so I will do my best to think of the world where his spirit is, all healed from Parkinson’s, young and energized again.

Goodbye, Bim. I miss you, and I love you.”

 The service was beautiful. There were so many people who came to pay their respects and to love on those of us left behind. I appreciated the music as well. Music is so healing for me. Several songs beyond those at the funeral have helped me along in the grieving process. Most recently, I have cried along with Phil Wickham’s “Homesick for Heaven.”

On Sunday, we had a small ceremony at the cemetery to bury Bim’s ashes. That is when the tears came for me. We were surrounded by the memories of others we have lost along the way, others Bim has now joined. We sang a verse of “Amazing Grace” and shared a few more memories. There are many types of goodbyes, but the earthly permanence of this one hit hard.

Chat GPT created this picture of Bim with his daughter Jessica for me.
I like to think Heaven is a little like this.

I am grateful for all those who spent time with us, remembering, laughing, and crying. As I said while receiving one of the millions of hugs I got last weekend, we’ve all been grieving alone, and it felt “good” to grieve together. Not “good” exactly, but important and necessary. So I want to say thank you to all who came alongside us, either in person or in prayer. I appreciate each one of you.

I’m closing with this picture of me with my brothers, from about a year ago as we all gathered on our family vacation. I’m grateful for each family picture we have, and I especially like this one as we all look like we really look (not dressed up or fancy). Remembering is a blessing.

Don, Jon, Liz, Bim, Steve, Jerry