My Story

Photo taken at Indiana University in 2012, at the base of the oak tree where my parents met in 1970. I spread some of my mom’s ashes there that day.

Hi, I’m Jessica McKimmie. Most people call me Jess.

I grew up in North Seattle, Washington with two loving, hippie-ish parents, a protective and introverted older sister, and our pets Moki (yellow lab) and Oly (yellow tabby). Our house was filled with the smells of my dad’s homemade chili and other midwest favorites (with the occasional chinese take-out), the sounds of Frank Zappa, Joni Mitchell, Dar Williams, Bob Dylan, The Simpsons, Ren & Stimpy, Saved by the Bell, Fresh Prince, and, as we were loyal Indiana Hoosiers, adorned with a Bobby Knight altar.

Since I was young, I have always loved making people laugh, exploring, and creating fantastical games and stories. As a teen, I considered myself a hard working optimist, whose true nature was to be trusting of others, carefree, and fun. After high school, I went on to play college basketball at San Francisco State University and majored in Business Management, as I was interested in being an entrepreneur someday.

My sophomore year of college, I got a phone call that changed my life. It was my mom. She called to tell me my father had been diagnosed with cancer.

The type of cancer was Acute Myelogenous Leukemia (AML), which I had never heard of. All I could hear was CANCER, and immediately, all I thought about was my father dying. With the urging of my best friend, I went home to Seattle the next day. I was relieved to see my same old dad cracking jokes and smiling at me. I felt better, but knew we were in for a roller-coaster. That day marked the point in my life where death was no longer some distance concept. It has since become, and forever will be, a part of my daily consciousness.

In the weeks before my father passed, I refunded my ticket to the Netherlands for a once-dreamed-about study abroad program. A dear friend flew up and made hospital visits with me as things grew bleak. On August 12, 2002, after three years, a stem-cell-transplant leading to remission, and later a relapse, I said goodbye to one of my favorite people in the world. 

I talked openly about his illness and his death with my friends, being the first of my friends to “normalize” conversation around death, to a certain extent. On some spiritual level, I understood his death and still felt connected to him. At the young age of 22, I dealt with his passing as best I could. I took a semester off and lived with my mom through our first round of winter holidays without him, before returning to San Francisco to finish my degree. I indulged in a semester full of partying to numb the pain that at times felt like it was bubbling too close to the surface.

After graduation, I set off for the Big Apple, a place I had always wanted to live (I credit my mother singing me “Lullaby of Broadway” to get me to sleep as a child). New York was amazing. I jump-started my career in marketing and sales and felt my dad with me every time I looked at the beautiful architecture or went for a run – he worked in construction and was a marathoner. The Big Apple also spun me around and spit me out.

After three years of New York, I made my way back to the west coast, this time landing in San Diego. I started my own marketing business in 2005, which I poured myself into. In 2010, after a breakup, I was both dealing with a delayed response to a sexual trauma that occurred in college and had a huge relapse in dealing with the loss of my father. They say that losses bring up losses. I felt the gravity of that reality and it was really true for me. I began a more conscious journey in healing from my trauma and the death of my father, which led me into many different somatic and spiritual healing modalities, including bodywork, reiki, tarot and numerology, Christianity, sound healing, and meditation. I became an avid cyclist, which helped me to direct my energy into physically moving through grief. I began to create space in my business, which I had allowed to nearly suffocate me, as workaholism was one of my coping mechanisms for grief. I embraced my struggles and started making changes to have more balance and quality of life – things were starting to look up, as they say.

Then, on February 21, 2012, I got another phone call that changed my life. This time it was my pregnant sister calling. When I heard her tone, I thought it was bad news about the baby. When she said “Mom is gone,” I screamed louder than I have ever screamed before. Viscerally, uncontrollably. I cursed, again and again. I fell to the ground. Our mom had gone to Hawaii for a work trip and we had each talked to her within the week. She wasn’t ill. It was sudden and unforeseen. I was literally inconsolable. Minutes after the phone call, I was driven to sit in deep meditation as my only way to feel connected, to make any sense of this news. For months, I battled depression. My life turned upside down. I closed my business. I felt an extreme loss of meaning and purpose. On the 1-year anniversary of my mother’s death, I moved home, to the house where I was raised.

A year and a half after her death, I began a blog through the early journal entries found on this site, which highlighted some of my lessons and revelations. In 2014, my sister and I sold our childhood home, I re-entered the workforce, and my blog took a backseat. But the calling to explore the meaning and pains of death and dying stayed close to my heart. In 2017, I began the Chaplaincy Training program at Upaya Zen Center, and so began my next chapter. In 2022, I decided to turn focus toward supporting the process of Death and Dying, and completed a Death Doula training with Going with Grace. As of August, 2022, I am now ordained as a Buddhist Chaplain with Upaya Zen Center, adopting the title “Reverend”.

Today, I offer Chaplain services to folks in various stages of grief and bereavement, as well as End of Life planning and support as a Death Doula. My goal of this website and my services remains: to hold a space for those who have faced, or are facing, death, loss, and grief.

May we journey together and let our grief transform our hearts toward peace, compassion and understanding. May we continue to support ourselves, and others we meet, on this sweet and salty path of life.

In peace,

Jess

(updated 6/29/2022)