Tom

It’s 3 am on September 28, 2021. I am crying in the passenger seat of my boyfriend’s car as we deliver newspapers. It has only been a few hours since we heard of Tom’s passing. We are both in shock, even though it makes little sense for us to be. Neither of us knew Tom personally and yet there is a grief in our car that cannot be ignored or denied.

We spend the night, Marcus driving, and I reading Tom’s stories aloud.

I can't stop thinking about the animals Tom loved. I can't stop thinking about goldfish, or dandelion lemonade. I can't stop waiting for his next story.

And so I keep re-reading his old ones;

And every time I get lost in his words;

And when the story ends, its impact doesn't.

Tom touched more people than is fathomable. Not only through his words but through his actions.

Tom was known for encouraging people in the Vocal community to slow down and connect. He would regularly start Facebook threads on Vocal's online pages which would ask for no URLs or self-promotions; instead, these threads would ask us questions about ourselves. He wanted us to connect as storytellers, as artists, as human beings.

Tom reminded us what to write for.

And it was never money.

One of those Facebook threads has stuck with me.

With so many people unable to travel, Tom asked us where we would go if we could instantly, magically be there. The replies flooded with our fellow writers' wishes to travel home, to experience new places and cultures, to be reunited with loved ones. Tom himself was living in France and homesick for England.

My reply happened to be France.

When I said that I wanted to go to France, Tom invited me and my partner to stay at his farm in Normandy.

It wasn't just an invitation for me, though.

“My days are different. I can be maintaining woodland, planting food to eat, working the river, improving the buildings, maintaining everything (there is a lot of that). The day can be dictated by the weather, some jobs are for the summer and others are for the winter. I am almost self-sufficient. I grow most of my own food and barter for what I don't have. I fell my own trees and stack my own firewood, providing the heat for my home in winter. I also operate an open door and invite people to stay for no charge. Room and board is paid by helping me out. Some stay for months, others for just a day or two. It is an older way to live.”

In fact, I realized that his offer was not just for our writing group.

It felt like anyone, lost or found, was welcome into Tom's safe harbor. Whether that was inviting near-strangers to his farm, or listening as a friend, Tom cared about people.

He inspired by example.

He pushed us to value one another.

And now, in the midst of this incredible loss, we reach out for each other.

We cherish the same human connections that Tom helped us create.

Thank you for that; thank you for keeping me company.

You can feel it, too; I recognize it in the way you look at me.

Something is about to happen.

Look at our destination! No, really, look.

Can you see that rigid pinnacle of rock and snow? The mountain spearing up into the clouds?

The freezing wind whistles down from the mountaintop and wraps around both of us; our lungs close shut, and we both gasp for air. It is a worthy payment for entrance to the promised land. You can see that opening between the rocks, the pass, the final ridge. It is there we will experience it. I just know it.

-Tom Brad