Sláinte

A year ago, at the start of our pandemic lockdown, I brought a special delivery of corned beef and cabbage to Tom Fitzgibbons in his Hanson home where he has lived since 1967. As Meg says, some of these Brentwood folks are like hermit crabs and these houses are their shells. Many of these once urban dwelling folks who moved to Hanson’s newest neighborhood when it was built are clinging to these homes with all their might. When news of someone selling pops up, it spreads like wildfire among this crew. “Marie is selling” they say to one another morosely “I wonder who will be next?” Well, I’ll tell you one thing—not my parents and certainly not Tom Fitzgibbons.

This St. Patrick’s Day was a little different. Tom, Mary, and Don (Mom & Dad) have all been fully vaccinated and this Irish and wannabe Irish (Don) crew needed to celebrate on the holiest day of the Irish year. They all got their vaccinations at the exact same times and in the exact same place. Mary and Tom could have chatted for hours after vaccine number two but were cut short by Don who was antsy and wanted to get home to his “perch” as Mary calls it. Mary and Tom have the “gift of the gab” and my wheels started turning on how to give them exactly what they wanted and needed. “What do you think of having Tom Fitzgibbons over on St. Paddy’s Day for corned beef and cabbage?” I asked Mom (Mary). “I think that’s a great idea!” she said. With that, a dinner party came into being. Mary excels at the job of hostess, almost to a fault. She plods and plans social events down to the knapkins and nearly shops herself into the ground in preparation. I could stop her or step in but that is NOT what she wants. “Shop ‘til you drop” takes on new meaning with Mary.  

“We didn’t even know how to spell s-e-x let alone do it!” Tom was recounting his early days with Marg, his beloved wife and the Fitzgibbons’ family mom who passed years ago, as we sat around the dinner table eating our corned beef and cabbage (and pasta for those who can’t stomach it). By the time Marg told Tom that child number 10 was on his way with the words “it’s God’s will”, Tom’s only response was “what else is new?” “Posterchildren for Planned Parenthood!” Tom exclaimed in his unmistakable voice through mouthfuls of cabbage and horseradish sauce. He laughs as heartily at his own jokes as we do which only makes it all the funnier. In my opinion, there is nothing better than a Tom Fitzgibbons’ story though his daughter Eileen may beg, convincingly, to differ.

My parents and Tom are some of the last holdouts of the Brentwood neighborhood of Hanson. If any one of them were to move, I think it would be akin to seeing a horse lie down and we’d all know that some kind of apocalyptic end was near. If Tom moved, they’d have to move his “nostalgia room” with him. This room, with the recliner at its heart, is filled with knicknacks, memorabilia, and pictures of friends and family, many of whom have passed. There he sits everyday either listening to Irish tunes at full volume or watching the Turner Classic Movie channel. In fact, he was going home to watch The Quiet Man after our St. Patrick’s Day meal, a movie that he has seen approximately 53 times. These homes and these routines are now as much a part of their bodies as are their hearts. Alongside their big families, these are the marks they have left on this earth and they are not giving that up without a fight.

Tom told us more hilarious tales, my personal favorite being the one about when he accidentally set off his Life Alert in the middle of the night and subsequently greeted a handful of Hanson’s finest first responders at his front door in the buff. He has had his fair share of maladies over the years from falls, a broken neck, cancer, etc., etc. The Life Alert really is a necessity to his being able to cling to that nostalgia room. His children visit, one by one, each day of the week, and do the things he no longer can or should. He may say a few things to poke fun at them all but give him a couple of Guinness and that sarcasm will melt into sentimentality. He loves his kids and grandkids with all his heart, the organ that keeps ticking thanks to Tom, Mary, and Don’s shared cardiologist the one and only Dr. Anthony Marks (aka “Tony” as Tom calls him). “He didn’t like me much when we first met but I’ve grown on him” Tom says proudly. Of course he has. If you don’t like Tom, you have a problem of your very own.

As the night came to an end and Tom enjoyed a glass of fine Irish whiskey with some ice, he looked at us all and said with a tinge of emotion in his voice “You know, you may have given me enough incentive to make it to see another St. Patrick’s Day.” Oh yes, Tom, but if I have anything to say about it, our next dinner party will come around far sooner than that. Sláinte to you, Tom Fitzgibbons, a real class act of a guy.