What I loved about the house from the first moment I saw it, was the location situated before a spectacular forest. There was a huge circular driveway that intersected a cul-de-sac on one side, and a cul-de-sac on the other. My vision was that our children would learn to ride their bicycles around this driveway, climb trees in this yard, and splash in the creek that cut through our backyard.
Charlie's vision was that the 50-year old, all original applianced never once updated house, needed a TON of work, several trees cut down, and our children would have no one to play with since it appeared the average age of residents on our street was at least 75. Sure, there had been rumors that there were children that lived in the house next door, but we never really saw them.
Soon after we moved in, while the triplets were off to school in kindergarten, and I was away at work - Charlie was in the front yard, surveying the monumental task of what needed to be done. Across the street, one of the neighbors, a man who we would come to know as, Mr. Tom, had walked outside to check his mail. Tom has since told me that he's always been a gruff kind of guy. He'd lived a long and somewhat tough life, had dealt with cancer, and all kinds of issues that overtime, had put callouses on his heart. But while Charlie was muttering to himself, "What the hell were we thinking buying this place...?" Our three-year-old Henry, dressed in boots and a superhero cape, walked across the cul-de-sac and introduced himself.
According to Tom, one minute he is minding his own business, looking in his mailbox, and the next minute he feels a little tug on his pant leg. He looks down and sees a blue-eyed Henry who says, "HI! I'M HENWY. WILL YOU PLAY WIF ME?!" And in that moment, Tom said his old heart completely melted in to his shoes and he felt weak in the knees. In that very moment, Mr. Tom became our surrogate grandfather.
Tom, his wife, Sue, their disabled daughter, Dawn, and their great big black German Shepherd, Max, lived across the road from us. Their kitchen window faced our front yard, and Tom who was a retired firefighter and paramedic, would sit at his kitchen table every day sipping coffee. After meeting Henry, he started keeping a close eye on our children as they played in the front yard and he would tell me that watching our children run around and play gave his life more joy than we could ever imagine.
But in reality, Mr. Tom kept his eye on all of us.
One day when I was at the office, and Charlie was trying to tackle some of the landscaping on his own, he dragged a ladder and his electric chainsaw out to the front yard. Tom would tell me he was sitting in his usual perch, sipping coffee, with one eye on the paper - one eye on our yard - when he saw Charlie set up the ladder, climb to the top rung, and with one foot on the ladder - another foot on a tree branch, lift the chainsaw over his head and start cutting a branch ABOVE him.
Tom said the coffee nearly came out of his nose as he hastily put down the cup and newspaper, and dashed out of his yard and over to our house. Trotting across the yard he yelled, "Charlie! Charlie! Hang on there buddy, let's think about this! I don't want to be the one to call Jen at work and tell her she's a widow!"
Years later, when Charlie and I decided to clear out leaves from the gutters on the back side of our house. Because of the hill in our yard, the distance from the base of the ladder to the top of the gutters was quite large: I'd estimate at least 30 feet. Charlie had bought an extension ladder, which we hauled out of the garage and set up against the back elevation. To this day, I'm not sure how in the world Tom knew what we were doing, because we were out of sight from his kitchen window .... but Charlie no sooner put one tentative foot on the ladder and Tom was next to me.
Tom knew that Charlie didn't like heights. When Tom would regale us with stories of his days as a firefighter trainer - the drills where he would have to climb up and down the other side of a 50-foot ladder that was vertically straight - he would guffaw at my husband's reaction and pale complexion.
On that day when he appeared out of thin air, Tom - who was 73 years old at the time - hustled to the top of our ladder, scooped out all the leaves, and hustled back down again while Charlie and I stood on the ground shaking.
When our children turned eight, it was Tom's recommendation that we contact his old friends at the fire department and request that they send a truck to the birthday party. They sent two.
And many a snow day, I would trek over to Tom's house with William in tow, so that the two of them could work together on affixing models. Tom was an expert model maker, and had quite a collection of tanks - airplanes - and boats.
Tom was born in Virginia and was a quintessential southern gentleman, and history buff through and through. He could talk with you at great length about the Civil War and every battle that was fought, particularly those in Virginia. He was also a veteran of the Navy, and an extremely proud card-carrying member of the NRA. I'm not a big fan of guns, and Tom knew this. Still, for years he wanted to take me to the local shooting range in Fairfax and make sure I knew how to defend myself. He never left the house without his firearm, and would tell me how he sure hoped he never found himself in a situation where he needed to use it - but in the event something did happen ... he'd be ready. "And you should be too, young lady," he'd sternly say.
Such a fixture in our lives was Tom, I cannot think of Virginia without thinking of him. Because during the five years we lived in Virginia, we had become his family; just as he had become ours. The day we moved, I will forever remember standing with him in the basement, looking over our children playing in the empty house. Several neighbors had gathered to say goodbye, but as I looked at Tom - he had tears in his eyes. He told me how much we had meant to him, how much he loved every one of us, and how terribly he would miss us all. As I gave him a hug goodbye, I broke down in tears, too and told him that I would miss him, Most Of All.
It had only been a few weeks since I'd lost my own Dad, and Tom reminded me so much of him. The Navy veteran, NRA card-carrying, devout Republican that he was. From the blue eyes, and build, right down to the blue jeans and white t-shirt he often wore. We didn't agree on everything - as families seldom do - but our friendship went so much deeper than politics.
Even after we moved, we kept in close touch. He would send me emails, I would send him pictures of the kids. William even called to interview him, and did a project on his military service for Veteran's Day. Within a few months of us moving away from Virginia, Tom wrote to tell me that the cancer had returned. Soon, our old neighbors were writing to me to let me know how desperately Tom missed our family, which would make my heart ache because we missed him, too.
Last summer, we drove from Texas to Virginia to see Tom. We didn't tell him that we were coming, because we weren't entirely sure of our schedule. On the day that we arrived, I'd called to check in and see how he was doing. While we were talking and he was lamenting that he missed us and would give anything to see our children playing outside his door again, we pulled in to his driveway - and in line of sight of his kitchen window, where we saw him perched with his coffee cup.
The look of surprise on his face was indescribable perfection.
While we were visiting, he gave our boys his very first .22-caliber rifles that he had bought when he was a young boy, playing around the fields of Virginia. For a man like Tom, there is something incredibly special about his first gun.... and it speaks VOLUMES as to how much he adored our kids - that he'd want for them to have this token to remember him.
Earlier this week, Sue wrote to tell me that Tom was in hospice and would likely pass this week. When I told our children, they were heart broken to think they were losing their fourth and final grandfather. First Grampy. Then Jimbo. Then Papa Alex.
And now ... Mr. Tom.
The kids made a care package for Sue and Dawn, and we sent Tom a red, white and blue balloon arrangement that has been in his room all week. We've been praying that his passage from this world to the next week would be as gentle as possible, and this morning, Sue wrote to tell me that God heard our prayers and he passed peacefully this morning. Our children are grappling with two people that they love, dying in just four weeks time. But as I told them, this is the reminder that life is fleeting. There is birth and death. Hello and goodbye. Instead of focusing on the sadness, let us instead focus on how lucky are we that we have had the opportunity to meet and love so many wonderful souls along the way. They will always be with us.
It's also a beautiful reminder to reach out and talk with your neighbors. We never know when that connection may lead to a wonderful friendship like the one we shared with our beloved Mr. Tom.
