Born in Newton, Iowa on May 12, 1960 to Lauraetta Ruth Snyder Cashman and Joseph Patrick Cashman. Beloved brother of Anne Marie, Margaret Joseph, Stephen Patrick, Joan Eileen, and Gerald Michael. Friend of many, advisor of many, appreciated by many, and loved ever so dearly by many including Jennifer and Muriel. On July 9, 2006 Jim's ashes were strewn, part in a wooded area near Prescott Arizona and part in the Superstition Mountains

Every one dies, yet not everyone lives.
There is no life without love.
Only to have loved is to live.

Love is the bridge
>From here to eternity
True love lives forever
Death can never kill love.

Death is not an end, it is a beginning
Every one dies, not everyone lives

>From Anne (oldest sister)
Jim was my baby brother. He was born the sixth kid when I was 13, so I was his second mother. I changed diapers, fed him, played with him, got up with him at night sometimes.

When he was a teenager and I was a wife and new mom, we watched our father die of amyloidosis. Nobody knew anything about the disease, some thought the symptoms the poor man was suffering from were psychosomatic. His huge heart, meant in many ways, finally gave out. His loss devastated my brothers who were right in the times of their lives when they needed a dad. Jim was no saint. He got into trouble. In fact, he spent several weekends sitting in a jail cell in Prescott to serve time for having an unlicensed, uninsured truck. He worked in construction, several of the most beautiful houses in the area contain his work. Some might say he never reached his potential.

He was, however, so much more. He was a gifted woodworker. A bathroom in one of those big houses has cabinets that are decorated with inlaid wood pieces that reflect the horizon seen outside the house. Jim was a Marine and very proud of that fact. He loved to cook and shared his cookies and relishes with his family. He listened to Pink Floyd. He loved his dog Buddy. He was also the reason I am still alive today.

In the early part of the 2000s Jim began having puzzling health problems. He could not maintain his weight and he had chronic diarrhea. The docs tested him for everything, including HIV (sound familiar) but could not find anything. It finally dawned on everyone that this was the same problem that our father had had. Dr. Benson's test for a genetic marker confirmed the diagnosis. In 2003, Jim was the middle of the first domino liver transplant at Mayo in Scottsdale. His liver is still alive and happy in a thankful, golf-playing recipient.

He encouraged his siblings to have our blood tested for the genetic marker. Of the six of us, only he and I were positive. In 2005 I was the grateful recipient of a liver. I have had three more (and counting) years than was predicted for me with no treatment. I am going to be a grandmother in May. Of the estimated 18 first cousins, almost half of them are either confirmed genetically positive, or died of diseases that may have been amyloidosis. We are a genetic demonstration of a dominant, somatic gene.

I miss Jim. He was the one who said 'Amyloidosis, the disease that brings families together', and that we should all get NASCAR jackets with our varient listed on them. He made me smile with that Cashman humor, the kind you have to pay attention to to get.