Toothpick Tommy

This morning I burned my last stick of nag champa incense, hoping to conjure the words I want to write. I have been blocked for two weeks now, writing and erasing, writing and erasing. For those who write, you know what I’m talking about. It happens. Sometimes, creativity takes a back seat to everything else. In a life like mine, that is really no surprise. But still, this is where I punctuate the endless string of sentences that make up my days and nights. I return here because I not only must but want to. Today I return here to send off a very special someone—the one and only Mr. Tom Fitzgibbons.

For those who have read E&G over the past three years, you have come to know Tom through issue 73 and again in issue 118. Tom is a neighbor of ours but that is just the start of the story. Long before our families moved to Hanson in the late 60s and early 70s, our deep Irish roots somehow got twisted together and my family was aware of the Fitzgibbons being our neighbors before we moved in (I use the term “we” loosely there because I did not arrive until 1978 by virtue of something that probably happened somewhere around Dad’s 45th birthday in 1977). My sister Jan started school here in Hanson at the end of her 6th grade year (can you say brutal); she was, I imagine, a little shell shocked. Luckily for her, she met a fellow 6th grader on the bus named Eileen Fitzgibbons and a new best friendship was born. Today, 50 years later, Eileen is our sister from another mister but that other mister is so much more than that.

The six of us sat down to our hot dog dinner last night, Mom and I with heavy hearts having just heard the news of Tom’s passing. Over the past few months, the 91-year-old Tom Fitz was battling the declining health known to so many in his bracket. His 8 children (and the spouses of many of those children) have all taken shifts with their Dad, caring for him alongside the home health aides and nurses. When I heard that he was not doing well in January or February, I decided that corned beef could not wait. I told Eileen to expect a delivery. When she told Tom, apparently he said “She doesn’t think I’m going to make it to St. Paddy’s Day!” He was right, I wasn’t so sure he would. When I brought in the boiled dinner with a side of Guiness that afternoon, Tom asked for a plate right away. He wasn’t going to wait until dinnertime. We chatted a bit, his words slower than they had been the last two times we served him a boiled dinner. As I walked out the door, he said “You know I love ya, Steph.” I told him I loved him too.

“I have a bit of news to share with you” Mom said as she patted Dad’s hand at dinner last night. “Tom Fitzgibbons passed away today.” Dad’s face shifted from serene to shocked. “He did???” he said. For him, hearing of deaths is always a surprise because although he is nearly 90 himself, dementia has put him in the year 2000 or before. He doesn’t retain new information so even if he had known that Tom had been sick, he wouldn’t have remembered. J.D. got my attention and pointed to below his eye, indicating that he had seen a tear on Dad’s cheek. “What’s the matter, Hoon?” Mom asked (hoon is their term of endearment for one another). “I don’t know.” Dad said, no longer wanting to eat. “Are you sad?” she asked. “Yes, a little.” Dad admitted as he wiped away tears. “It’s ok to be sad” Mom told him. As you can imagine, Mom and I were now crying too, maybe even J.D. a little. “Tommy!” Dad said, as if Mr. Fitz were walking through the door. “I wonder if they’re going to put a toothpick in his mouth.” (Tom always had a toothpick in his mouth-Toothpick Tommy he was called once or twice). “I’m sure they will” Mom said. The mood at the dinner table was somber, Isaac looked around, not knowing how to process the overflow of emotions. Isaac has the unofficial title of “Grampy’s entertainment.” and I have noticed that he is very in tune to Dad’s reaction to him. I could tell his wheels were turning, wanting to find just the right thing to lighten the mood. So, what did he do? He farted as loudly as he could. What did we do? We all laughed, even Dad. Isaac challenged the table to a “fart off”.

Mom and I had planned to bring Tom a plate on Thursday of this coming week, St. Patrick’s Day. We knew he most likely wouldn’t be making it to our house to break some Irish bread together as we did last year with fresh vaccinations on board. That was one of my favorite memories of last year, it felt just so perfect with Mom in hostess mode on the holiest of Irish holidays and Tom in storytelling mode at the dinner table (he was a great storyteller). These older folks had put their small joys on hold for the pandemic and it sucked for them, it really did. I know we all suffered through it but for the elderly, the ones who really just want to live for the simple things, it was a different experience altogether. “What’s the point?” Mom asked me so many times during quarantine. Many days I had no answer for her. Although Tom didn’t make it to raise one last glass on one last St. Patrick’s Day, as my bff Meg said “Did he time it so he would get plenty of toasts in his send off?!” Of course he did, of course. Sláinte, Mr. Fitzgibbons. We will raise a glass to you this and every St. Patrick’s Day thereafter. 🥃☘️❤️

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedMay the road rise up to meet you.

May the wind be always at your back.

May the sun shine warm upon your face;

the rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again,

may God hold you in the palm of His hand.