An Open Letter To Jim Framo

Dear Jim,

One of the interventions you used to prepare people for Family of Origin sessions was to have them imagine standing at the grave of a loved one, and then reflect on all the things they wish they had said or asked.  I am fortunate that I had the chance to express to you at your retirement ceremony at least some of what you and your work has meant to me and to so many others.

You grew up four blocks and one generation away from me in South Philly and always served as a reminder that I could be something other than a construction worker.  We first met through your daughter Joan, who I met while I was an undergraduate playing in a rock band.  She invited me to watch you do family therapy behind a one-way mirror at the first family therapy center in a community mental health center in the country: the one you established at Jefferson Medical School.  I was interested in Gestalt Therapy and was at an age where I was leaving my family of origin, and had little interest in  "families."  I was to later learn from you that one never leaves one's family no matter how far one distances oneself in time or space.  The radical experience of being behind the one-way mirror with professionals from all over the east coast was  unique and the excitement was infectious.  This was the late 60's and life seemed experimental and wide open. You were a pioneer and surprisingly you made it seem a radical and exciting endeavor to be with family rather than leave family. One couples group I witnessed that you orchestrated like a maestro was full of soap opera content, tales of med students in angst, sorting out drug and spouse swapping experiences. The process of your work was electric.  Afterwards, you and Joan squeezed into my VW bug and we drove back to Lower Merion to have dinner with Mary and Patty.  You were so humble and interested in people.  Though you were tired you were so human and personable.

A few years later, you came to teach at Temple University and we reconnected. I had just finished my internship and spent that whole year taking only courses that you taught.  Your enthusiasm and encouragement were endless.  I felt like the Sorcerer's Apprentice, yet you treated me like an equal, a colleague. You encouraged me to submit reviews on Kempler's books of gestalt family therapy to family journals and I was so surprised, when I saw that one of them was published in the same issue as your "You Can and Should Go Home Again" paper.  Wow!  I was in good company!  A couple of years later you invited me to become the youngest charter member of AFTA.   I sat and excitedly talked with all these pioneers in the field and I wondered what was I doing there?  Some of them wondered too, but you never did.

Your Family of Origin work was the "Ultimate Brief Therapy" because it was not focused around a symptom.  It centered around patterns over time with those who matter most, and with whom we are most vulnerable—our families—now, past and future.  It was a brief therapy, informed by our longings, by what the soul and heart want to say and hear from those that affect us most.

After five years facilitating Family of Origin sessions for others, I finally had the courage and ability to have my own family sit down with you and Mary, and what sparks flew.   My Italian boxer father was reluctant to come but left saying, "We should do this again sometime."  Your humanity, charisma and work was so powerful that until my father died (in my arms after a stroke four years ago) he often asked "How's Dr. Framo?"  He had this respect for you having met you just that once; prior to that, he'd held to the belief that psychology was mind reading, and he kept wondering when I was going to get a "real" job like the one as a heavy equipment operator that he could set me up with—union, no less!

You turned out to be the "calling card" that opened so many doors for me professionally and personally.  Your confidence in me and your recommendations allowed me to live where I dreamed of living and work where I dreamed of working. When I found a job, through you, in California, you asked me to find you a job there!

You gave me the opportunity to teach American and Soviet mental health professionals along with you and Felise a dozen years ago.  That adventure took us to Moscow and Leningrad, but especially Uzbekistan, where we taught in Tashkent, Bukhara, and Samarkand. One of my best friends is an Uzbek psychologist, now an ambassador, that I met on that trip. You said that it was the most exotic place you ever taught. You loved to laugh and sing  and we did both when we left, singing "Bye Bye Buhkara."

What I feel I owe you is a debt that can't be repaid.  I know that I am only one of many you deeply touched.  You have been my mentor, friend, colleague, role model, professional father, confidant, and paisán.  One of your favorite movies was "I  Never Sang for My Father."  I was blessed in that a few times I could sing for you (or have a stand-in).  Remember when Frank Sinatra came to play in the San Francisco Bay Area backed up by my cousin Bob, the trombone player?  I was so happy to give you and Felise the gift of seeing your favorite singer, even though it was so small compared to what you've given me.

In thirty-one years of knowing and loving you I've accumulated a lot of mental snapshots and since you have left your body, I've been flooded with reverie.  I often think of you when I see a smiley face because you always drew them on your notes. Your delight in sharing chewing gum like your father did with you comes to mind. Your pockets full of candy… your enthusiastic voice saying "hey Fella"… your open door when I was a grad student and our confidential talks, especially of the loss of your two young sons, and of World War II… the war weary soldier's face you painted that hung in your office… your love of cinema… family biographies and family photo albums you loved to have others share… your childlike enthusiasm like your couldn't-wait-to-show-me attitude when you had "instant hot water" installed… your warm pride when Virginia Satir told you that you were one of the few men with whom she could do co-therapy… the effusive feedback you received for the dog-eared photocopies  that circulated amongst so many of us of your Voices article, "My Families, My Family…" your wheelchair getting pulled up Mount Tamalpais so you and Felise could attend my and Heidi's wedding (you had a premonition that a woman from the midwest would be the beloved for whom I longed).

Years ago, Fred Duhl showed me a card trick he used to illustrate the field of family therapy.  In it you magically appear as the "Jack of Hearts" because you were the heart of the field.  Looking back, the strength of your Big Hearted Love for and from your family and friends… and especially Felise… kept you alive as long as it did.  Your heart has been giving, and giving out, since I met you.

The poet Rilke wrote,  "My life is not this steep hour which you see me racing through.   I am a tree upon the landscape of my being.  I am but one of all my many voices, the one which soonest will be still."

Jim, two stones cannot occupy the same space but two or more fragrances can.   Your life and love now permeates the rest of us like the invisible scent of perfume that we breathe and enjoy with delight.  The beautiful fragrance of your love has now become part of the rest of us.

I will miss being able to hug you, and to have you hug my newborn child.  I will miss being able to touch you, but I will continue to talk with your many voices and laugh with you often.

With a Grateful Heart, 

Love, Ron

Ron DeStefano, Ph.D. is in private practice in Marin County, California and has been doing family therapy for 30 years. Formerly on the faculty of UCSF and the California Graduate School of Family Psychology, he has led psycho-spiritual treks into the Himalayas and the Tibetan Plateau.  Ron has had a long standing interest and involvement with eastern spiritual traditions, especially Buddhism, and incorporating them into his life and work. He currently is celebrating the joy of he and his beloved, Heidi, getting to know their infant son, Julian.