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I Understand The Empty Tomb

It would be at least two weeks before I could keep my promise to “bring him home”.  In the meantime, if it weren’t for consoling strangers, compassionate hotel folk, extended check outs, and generous phone privileges, all the planning that had to be done -obituaries, funeral, wake, reception, notifications, etc etc – would not have been done so effectively.  I guess it’s good that all these details occupied my mind,.

There’s one thing I have to do, even before I worry too much about all this.  Need to take a day and visit Tommy’s apartment.  I’ve never seen it.  Never been there.  And now I would see it without him…..

It was a challenge going through his possessions at his apartment.  He hadn’t been there very long, only a matter of a few months really.  He had moved in with his girlfriend when he took a job with his company’s office in Oakland.
 
He lived very simply. He had very little, really, but he had everything. He was never interested in all the big fancy things in life – never.  His was a spiritual life, or at least he was on a mega search for what spiritual meant.  I had known that for sometime.  And his sparse possessions and journals confirmed this. 

All his clothes fit in a small closet in the second bedroom.  He used a small plastic 4-drawer unit as his only dresser.  He had books on one shelf, family pictures from last Christmas, and all the cards and written messages he had ever been given by family.  His shoes were all shined, and his clothes were all hung up in an orderly fashion.  His journals were all there. I hadn’t expected him to be the journaler in the family, but there you go.  He even had the orange leather-covered journal I gave him for his graduation nearly 3 three years. His inscription inside the cover spoke volumes for who he was “this is a gift from my mother for my graduation.  If found please return it to me.”  And he put his name and phone number.  He never lost it.  And now it is the most precious thing of “him” that I have.

Looking around an apartment where he will never walk again …. is almost unbearable.  Looking at all those bicycles he had, all that climbing equipment, skate boards, snowboard, Whistler competition cooking equipment and smokers, etc. etc.  Sure know what he did with all his time. 

He was such a “chef”, I could not really enter into his kitchen, it was such a centre to his life.  Guess he learned this from his childhood where the kitchen was always the heart of our home.  He had bits of mail, a few envelopes were for charities that involved kids.  Wow, I didn’t even know that about him.  On his dining room table, laying still half in the envelope was his St. Patrick’s Day card from his papa – his last mail from home.  And the last time he talked to anybody at home was on St. Patrick’s Day.  And now, two weeks later, he is gone. 

I can’t write anymore today, because it is too painful.  All I feel here is emptiness.  That lonely, painful part inside me is really there again. This apartment is like a tomb now, lifeless without him.  I miss him!  All I can say is, I understand the empty tomb – the empty part anyway.

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