We Hold On To What We Know

By Debra Dolan

PROMPT—The story I told myself ...

James Bradley Dolan

January 26 1976  –  May 12 2025

Cornwall Ontario, 49 years, Suicide

Motoring enthusiast, Gentle Giant, Decent

Jamie will always be my little brother, even though he was, quite literally, a big guy. He was the connector in our family. When my mother, Hannah, raising three young children, met and fell in love with Keith — a father to a teenager and two adult daughters — Jamie became the bridge between us, uniting our families in ways none of us could have imagined. At the time of his birth, I was already 17. My parents had intended to name him after a dear friend, Harry Bradley Went, who had passed, but James was later relieved to learn that we siblings had fought hard to spare him from the nickname Hairy Dolan.

From the very beginning, Jamie had a unique way of moving through the world. As an infant, he had his own way of seeking connection: he would throw himself out of his crib onto the floor in the hope that someone would come in for an extra cuddle. As a toddler, he tiptoed everywhere. He was utterly malleable, shaped by all of us, eager to be part of everything. We taught him song lyrics from the Rolling Stones, Diamond Ring ("Play with me, you pay with fire") while my mother gave him Johnny Mathis’s Hold Me, Touch Me, Never Let Me Go. He absorbed it all, delighted by the fun, always happy to be included and making us laugh.

His first spoken word was “car,” foreshadowing his lifelong obsession. Keith had an extensive collection of Road & Track magazines dating back to 1967, which Jamie devoured in his youth, recalling every detail with remarkable precision. Before he could legally drive, he proudly bought his first vehicle and spent hours caring for it. If you wanted to talk to him, you’d find him in the garage.

Ever the jokester; the one with the dry wit, the quick remark, the sideways glance that made people laugh, James was never without a smile and a quick one-liner. After leaving George Brown College’s Automotive Marketing program, he made his passion his profession working for a number of car companies and dealerships. But even he admitted that over time, the industry drained some of the excitement that once defined him. He wrote about feeling lost in corporate politics, how long hours and auto shows dulled the spark that had once been so strong. Yet, in founding The Motoring Enthusiast Journal, he found his way back to the joy that had first shaped him. He was, as he proudly called himself, a "card-carrying petrol head" once more.

Eventually, he purchased a home close to where he grew up. It was a decision that filled him with pride. Owning his own place wasn’t just about having a roof over his head; it was an achievement, a symbol of the stability he valued. It was his space, his sanctuary, where he could retreat into his world of cars and quiet contemplation after the dissolution of his marriage. We teased one another about how he lived on Princess Street while I was on Duchess Avenue. He would chuckle over the phone, “You always have to be the FN Queen of Everything!” He even built a home-based business: Automotivation, a detailing and window tinting business where he could share his obsession with others, and became a proud member of the Cornwall Mustang Club. Cars weren’t just a hobby for him; they were a language, a way of seeing the world.

And yet, despite all the love that surrounded him, the passions that defined him, the memories we shared, we are left with questions — aching, unanswerable questions. How deep was his pain, and how long had he carried it alone? Did he realize how fiercely we loved him, how desperately we would have tried to pull him back from that dark road if only we had known?

But even in our sorrow, we hold on to what we know. Jamie was kind, private, and funny. He was decent, good, and deeply appreciated. Left in park were his immaculate 1987 RX-7, his beloved 2002 Mustang Cobra, and a recently purchased BMW.

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Debra Dolan is a life-long private journal writer, pen pal, bibliophage, and a traveler who has sent postcards to herself since 1979. She lives in the seaside walk-able community of Ambleside, West Vancouver, Canada and has been a member of the Story Circle Network (SCN) since 2009. Debra enjoys intimate conversations over red wine, hockey, nature walks, solo piano recordings, and life as a pluviophile. She has completed two memoir book projects: Writings and Reflections:1958 to 2018, and Writings and Reflections: Turning 50 in 2008 (Walking the Camino de Santiago). Most recently, a children’s book Mabel the Heart Fairy for a beloved 8-year-old dear to her own heart, was self-published. Debra’s work has appeared in numerous publications, including eight anthologies.